Whenever, Wherever
by TheDevilandhisQueen
Summary: AU starting at 4x04. Death threats are given on the UES. Old faces emerge. Fireworks, thought to be dead, are re-ignited. If you hate the current season, you'll love this story. Equal parts angst, smut, and fluff. Rated M for language and sexual content.
1. When Tragedy Strikes Pt1

**Disclaimer: We do not claim to own any of the characters, or the show.**

**A/N: Takes place directly after the events of 4x04, when Chuck take's the spot in Martha Chamberlain's class that Blair wanted so badly. Everything is AU from there. This story is written by two different people, and will refer to ourselves as C and B. There will be chapters without any Chuck/Blair contact, and there will be chapters that have so much Chuck/Blair contact, you feel the need to fan yourself. Or take a cold shower. This story has been fully written, but will be updated periodically.**

**Blair's POV.**

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><p><em>Gossip Girl here, your one and only source into the scandalous lives of Manhattan's Elite. Looks like Blair got Chuck's French dove to fly the coop, but that doesn't mean this war is over. Some battles end, but others start. The big Bass himself has declared war on the victor—but who will win this battle? Only time will tell.<em>

There was a bounce in her step that had been otherwise absent since Eva had come back from Paris with Chuck on her arm. Whether it was the sweet afterglow of a victory, or the new Louboutin shoes she had clad on her feet, Blair was happy. However, of course, seeing Chuck on campus lowered her spirits, especially since his declaration of war on her. She hated seeing him upset, but what she hated even more, was seeing him with another girl. The Chuck she knew and loved had done whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He didn't throw all his money away into charities, nor did he wear peasant clothes like she'd seen on him in Paris. And he hadn't even bothered to call and tell her he got shot!

Blair was flustered now, brown hair in wispy curls surrounding her face as the cool air blew through the Columbia grounds. She saw Chuck exiting the building in front of her, followed by the guest speaker who_ she_ was supposed to talk with about filling a certain role—of course that motherchucker had gotten to her first. Angry, Blair shot him an nasty stare, turned on the heel of her new shoes, and stomped in the other direction. He would _not_ get to her, _she_ would win.

Her driver was waiting for her as usual when she left class, only it wasn't the man who normally chauffeured her. Confused, she walked up to the passenger side and knocked on the window, giving the driver a signal to roll it down. "Miss Waldorf." He greeted with a nod of his head a sly smile. "Yeah, whatever. Where is Alexander? My _usual_ driver?" The new driver nodded slowly, the smile still stuck on his face. "He, ah…couldn't be here today. Complications. Please, get in." Blair rolled her eyes and opened the back door, sliding into the car with a sigh. She wasn't in a mood to argue, she just wanted to go home, curl into her bed, and watch her favorite Hepburn movies. Her scheming would begin tomorrow.

She pulled her cell phone out of her purse as the car took off down the busy New York streets, and read a new text received from Serena;

**B, OMG! Did U see Chuck 2day on campus? What a Basshole! What is he doing there?**

Blair groaned and hit the reply button;

**He wants 2 ruin my life, that's what!**

Just as she was about to send the message, there was a loud screeching of wheels. Blair looked up, surprised, to see a car coming straight at her from the other side. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. The car hit the back of the driver's side, the sound of crunching metal reverberating throughout the compact vehicle. Blair's entire body was thrust in the opposite direction, her head hitting the window with a sickening crack. Her eyes blinked slowly, body slowly becoming limp, the driver—seemingly unharmed—exiting the vehicle. The brunette opened her mouth to yell, but nothing came out. Instead, she slumped against the cracked window, and allowed the darkness to take her.

An hour later she awoke in a hospital room. Her head pounded and she was sore all over, the doctor was standing at the foot of the bed, reading over her charts.

"Oh you're awake!" he stated, coming around towards Blair, "You were in a car accident Ms. Waldorf. You're going to be fine, but you'll need to stay here for a few days. You have a sprain in your left ankle as well as a few broken ribs. Other than that you may feel sore from the scattered bruising, and we'll see about getting you an MRI for you head. We don't think there is any damage, we just need to be sure. We have you on medication to alleviate the pain, but if you need anything, or feel uncomfortable, just ring a nurse." Blair stared at him with slightly glassy eyes and nodded, then he added, "We have just informed your mother, and she is on her way. Is there anyone else you'd like us to call?"

"Serena van der Woodsen…and, Chuck Bass."

Blair sat up in the hospital bed best she could, swallowing slowly and staring at the wall. Her phone on the bedside table lit up and buzzed—she reached over and slid it open;

**B, I'm on my way. Hang in there. –S**

She chose not to respond, instead just put the phone down and closed her eyes. Her head was pounding, and she had a heavy heart. She doubted Chuck would even show up, not when he still hated her guts for making Eva leave the country. There was something about the blonde that she couldn't stand—besides the fact that she had clung onto _her_ Chuck's arm like a little French leech. Could he really blame her? Blair was almost certain he'd have done the same thing, had the situations been spun.

An hour later Serena rushed in. She was in the same clothes she'd put on this morning, however her hair was all messy, and her face wind-bitten from running into the hospital and up to her room. Blair opened her eyes and offered a weak smile. "Hey, S," she stated slowly, squeezing her best friend's hand.

"What happened Blair? Are you gonna be okay?"

The brunette nodded and slowly tried to explain, "Just some stupid car accident. I'm fine, really S. This gorgeous face is still in tact, right?" She chuckled slightly which had her wincing from the broken ribs, but she tried to cover it up.

"I'm gonna stick with you every second until you're okay, B. I promise. And what better to start the healing process then the new Cosmo? I'm gonna run down to the gift shop. I'll be right back." Serena gently laid a kiss on Blair's forehead before exiting the room. It was only minutes before another person came walking through the door, only this time it wasn't Serena.

A young nurse in bright pink scrubs shuffled into her room next, a warm smile plastered on her friendly features. She walked over to one side of Blair's bed, and messed with some of the tech before turning to the brunette and checking to make sure her IV was secured correctly. She reached down under the bed and picked up a small plastic remote with one button on it and placed it in Blair's dainty hand.

Speaking softly, the nurse stated, "If your pain medication starts to wear off and you start hurting, press this button and another dose will be administered." The nurse walked over to the end of the bed and picked up her chart, her eyes scanning the page. "Your MRI is scheduled for tomorrow. Assuming there are no complications, you will probably be able to leave, but we advise against it." She didn't wait for Blair to say anything before nodding once and leaving the room.

The entire situation was completely surreal to Blair. She'd never been in the hospital before, at least, not for injuries. When her mother found out about her bulimia, she forced Blair to go to St. Luke's and be under doctor examination while they attempted to aid her in ending the nasty habit. She'd told all her friends she was on vacation—she didn't want their pity, and she still didn't. Blair Waldorf hated feeling weak, to her, it was the worst feeling in the world. Everything was exposed, and anyone could step in and crush her, take control. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but was swiftly swept away by her slightly shaking hand. There was a stirring in her gut, and her mind wandered to dangerous places. The thought of Chuck running off to France to find the "love of his life", the expression of her mother as soon as she got the call that her daughter was in the hospital, and the pity from all their friends as soon as Gossip Girl got word. She sunk back into the mattress, closing her eyes, allowing her thoughts to consume her—even if just momentarily.

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><p><strong>AN_: _Want more? Read and please write reviews! Next chapter will be in Chuck's POV.**


	2. When Tragedy Strikes Pt2

**A/N: Chuck's POV**

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><p>Two simple words cut through the air when Chuck reached his limo and pulled the door open, not bothering to wait for Arthur to act on his job."The Empire," he informed his driver crisply before raising the partition. There was a tinkling of ice as he threw two cubes into his glass before topping it off with a healthy (or, depending on the perspective, unhealthy) dose of liquor, finally slumping back in his seat, a grim expression clouding his features. A dark, dry smirk slithered its way across his mouth as he recalled the indignance with which Blair had fled when she saw him with soon-to-be lecturer Miss Chamberlain. And yet, the satisfaction he felt wasn't nearly as great as he thought it would be. He took pleasure in knowing he was making her skin crawl, knowing that each building block he knocked out from under her would serve to keep her in place. If he knew Blair Waldorf, it would be <em>that<em> that killed her. Blair Waldorf adored nothing more than climbing her way to the top and stepping on whoever she had to in order to get there. To be perpetually knocked down and kept as a lowly student with fledgling socialite prospects would drive her absolutely _insane_, and he looked forward to the day when that would happen. It was only fair, he mused as he took a lengthy sip from his glass. She'd taken his future and any prospect at success and happiness - why shouldn't he return the favor?

A shrill noise tore its way into his thoughts and he dug into his pocket to extract his Blackberry, promptly answering it without favoring the caller I.D. with a glance. "Chuck Bass," he said curtly in his gravelly voice.

_"Chuck Bass?"_ a honeyed voice on the other end of the line questioned and he fought the urge to roll his eyes. Wasn't that what he'd just said? "Yes. Who, may I ask, is calling?" He was impressed with how remarkably well he was keeping his tone under control. On the off chance that this was the office of a potential business venture, he couldn't afford to lose his temper or to be sarcastic. The things he did to ensure that the Bass name would live on in the Business World for years to come.

_"This is Rose Williams calling from St. Luke's-Roosevelt Hospital."_ He stilled instantly, his insides doing a funny, twisting thing, like they knew bad news was coming and they were trying to signal him to avoid it at all costs. "I'm listening," he said clearly. _"Mr. Bass, I'm sorry to inform you,"_ and it was clear that she was, her voice carrying a soothing lull that he suspected she had used many times on people. _"But a Miss Blair Waldorf was admitted earlier after suffering injuries from a car accident."_

Promptly, his formerly twisting insides turned to lead and he felt like he'd had the breath knocked out of him. _"What?"_ he asked with incredulity. Apparently that response was not unexpected, for the woman charged on in the same soothing tone as before.

_"She's been admitted into our care and woke up a few moments ago. She's asked that we contact you to inform you of the events."_ For one horrible, gut-wrenching moment, he wondered if this was Blair's idea of a joke. But cruel as she was, cruel as the both of them were, neither one would ever stoop so low as this. And, for another equally as horrible moment, he found himself wishing that she _was_capable of this, if only so that she could, in actuality, be safe and sound tucked up on her chaise lounge, crowing with delight as her master plan fell into place.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," he said, his throat dry, before he snapped his phone shut without another word.

"Arthur," he barked, lowering the partition. "Uptown. Now. St. Luke's." St. Luke's? As he said the name he nearly grimaced - as far as he was aware of, it was a perfectly fine hospital. However, it wasn't any hospital that they were used to, and that made him doubly uneasy. If they weren't competent enough there, if they didn't… if she…. He downed the remainder of his drink in one gulp, the fire in his throat not enough to outdo the fire in his heart. Because if she…. Twice in his entire life had people that he known and cared about gotten into a car accident - the first time was his father, the second time was Serena. That left the mortality rate at fifty percent, and with the luck that he seemed to have, he wouldn't put it past himself to somehow curse Blair into falling prey to an untimely death. _Damn it, Blair, don't leave me like this._ The limo pulled to a stop but when Chuck glanced out the tinted windows he growled in frustration - they weren't there, they'd simply reached a stoplight.

"Arthur," he said through gritted teeth. "I will double your salary for three months and double your Holiday Bonus if you will just _drive_!" he demanded. As it was he rarely paid any attention to the law, but he especially wouldn't stop for some trivial little lightbulb that told him whether he could or could not get on his way to the hospital. Seconds later the car was in motion again and the West Side was speeding by his windows.

Ten minutes later he was pushing the door open before the car had pulled to an entire stop and he stepped out of the limo swiftly, slamming the door behind him and marching towards the sliding doors. In five great strides he was in front of a desk with a 'visitors' sign tacked onto it. "I need to know the room number of a Miss Blair Waldorf. Quickly, please," he stressed.

_"Are you family?"_ they inquired with big blue eyes and he stared at them. They _had_ to be kidding. "My name is Chuck Bass. Miss Waldorf asked that I be informed she was here, and I have to believe she did so because she _wants me there_. So, while you're inquiring about the status of my connection to her, you're causing a patient a great deal of distress." Perhaps that was an exaggeration - yes, although Blair had called him there, he highly doubted that his absence was _distressing_ to her. She was probably (hopefully, God-willingly, please-oh-please) on enough pain medication to knock her out for days and wouldn't notice whether he danced the Can-Can into her room.

The person's expression soured but they promptly clicked through the computer a few times. _"8002. Take this elevator to the eighth floor, take a right and head down the hall. It's the last door."_He nodded before stalking away for the shining silver doors that were promptly peeling back just on time.

When he finally arrived there at her door, he lifted his hand to the handle and gripped it firmly, but he stopped there, steeling himself. Because he was… _afraid_. The word sounded disgusting to his mind and he wished he could take it back, but he couldn't, because he was. He was terrified of what he would find in there. He remembered seeing her stomp away from him in all her high-heeled glory, her brown eyes sparkling with that delightful fury that he loved to ignite in her. She was always more fun when she was feisty. He doubted he'd see even a trace of that when he entered the room now, and he didn't know how to see her like this. On top of that… he couldn't help but feel responsible. Because he had _stolen her precious spot!_ She'd seen him and run, and he'd taken so much pleasure in watching her flee from his presence before. Yet it was that which may have very well gotten her into this accident. He closed his eyes tightly, overwhelmed by an onslaught of memories from the Snowflake Ball. His father could have lived if he hadn't called him to tell him about Lily and her Humphrey. Perhaps he really did have a knack for putting people into lethal situations.

_Don't be such a coward._

Slowly, very slowly, he turned the handle on the door and pushed the wooden barrier open, inch by inch. First her arm came into view, then a bit more of her body, until finally all of her was revealed, looking little and… _un-Blair-like_ against the starched sheets of the hospital bed. His jaw tightened and he knew instinctively that some of the color had drained from his face, despite the alcohol he'd downed before he came here. He opened his mouth but he found that any words he wanted to say were glued to his tongue, refusing to come off. So, he swallowed thickly and shut the door quietly behind him before walking tentatively towards the bed, his gaze falling anywhere but her face.

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><p><strong>AN: Next up, Chuck and Blair come face to face...**


	3. Waving the White Flag

**A/N: For those of you that are anxious, more CB is to come in a few chapters, and I promise we won't let you down.**

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><p>Blair half wanted to turn away from him in pure shame. Here he was, rushing to her side, even after what she did to him. She couldn't help but to feel an extreme amount of guilt for what she had done, but she didn't want to believe that he had loved the blonde Parisian. He kept saying that she was his future, or that Blair had taken the thing he'd loved most. If anything, she considered the removal of Eva to be a <em>selfless<em> act. She made Chuck realize what was really important, made him stop acting like he was some god-send, here to throw all his money away on his girlfriend on her charities. As he approached the hospital bed, Blair hesitantly swallowed, throat dry, heart thumping. Where did they stand? Three hours ago he was practically rubbing his hatred for her in her face, and what now? Would they continue to pretend that the only thing between them was a mutual distrust and resentment?

Chuck nearly winced when he spied the swelling of her ankle and his eyes narrowed as he took in the bruises that bloomed across her usually flawless porcelain skin. His hand twitched at his side and he reached to brush over a particularly bad patch of skin, but he pulled back at the last second and stuffed both his hands into his pockets, his mouth set into a thin line. "Hey," he finally spoke, his voice tight.

Clearing her throat, she responded though rather meekly, "You came," and tried to shield the disbelief from her voice as best she could, but failed miserably. There weren't any holds bared when it came to her and Chuck.

_Of course I came_ he wanted to retort. As if he'd be anywhere else once he got the call. She'd been in a car accident, he had to see if she was…. But she wasn't. Apart from the injuries she'd procured - he scowled inwardly, noting that they were _battle_ wounds - she seemed to be in perfectly fine condition. Her mouth was working at any rate, and it was comforting to hear her voice and listen to the words falling from her tongue which seemed to be as sharp as ever. Slowly, very slowly, to the point where it was almost unnoticeable, he felt his body start to loosen. He hadn't even realized it was tight, but now that he was relaxing he could feel an ache situated deep in the back of his neck, right smack dab between his shoulders, a similar feeling in his lower back and thighs. "How… are you feeling?" he asked. It was a simple question, to the point of cliche.

"I'm fine." She lied, "In fact, I'm _great_." Her response was almost sour. She didn't know why exactly she felt she had to give him the cold shoulder, maybe it was because she felt the need to pretend like she still was strong even in this lowered state, or maybe it was because she was mad at Chuck for not having returned to her sooner after Eva left.

His eyes narrowed immediately when she answered him, her tone smart with a hint of ice. "Blair," he said her name as a warning, his voice low and that one little word carefully enunciated. If she _wasn't_ fine it seemed she wasn't going to let him in on that information. He wanted to tell her that painkillers were a gift, and that not everyone had access to them so she should take them while she was privileged. When he'd been shot…. And that was where the temptation stopped, because bringing up his shooting would lead to Paris, which would lead to Eva, which would lead to this war between them that somehow seemed like child's play now. Nothing more than a frivolous way to spend the free time that he had too much of. Larger questions, larger statements, loomed in the air like the proverbial elephant, but he had to know… "Are you in…" he cleared his throat and extracted a hand from his pocket to gesture over her body. "Does it hurt? Any of it?" he asked.

She removed her eyes from him and looked down to where the nurse had left the small remote, and slipped it under the sheets, out of view. She could handle the pain, and he didn't need to know otherwise. "I can't feel anything,"

"How's the care here? If we need to transfer you to another hospital, we will." Honestly, he didn't know if she was being entirely truthful when she claimed there was no pain, but he _was_ willing to believe that the decor and the overly-sanitized scent of the hospital room was getting under her expensive-taste-skin.

"The last thing I want is to be transferred to another hospital. I just want the doctors to get done with their stupid tests so I can go home to my _own_ bed." She rolled her doe eyes and flattened the thin blanket that was covering her lap. Chuck spied a silver chart at the end of her bed and he strode there, snatching it up and flipping it open. Instantly he found himself wishing he'd paid more attention in Latin class during his freshman year, because that was _obviously_ what this was written in. It certainly wasn't English he was looking at, and for some reason the letters seemed to have morphed into hieroglyphics. He glared darkly at the indecipherable chart, save for the label plastered haphazardly at the top that bore her name.

Blair watched his speculative eyes, before heaving a deep sigh, "Look, Chuck…"

He looked up at her, but they were both interrupted by their phones. The fact that they both went off meant it could be only one thing. The two of them both snatched their phones from their respective resting places. Chuck idly wondered why, exactly, had he bothered subscribing to her in the first place? _Probably has something to do with the fact that I'm a narcissistic bastard and I like to see a record of my explicit antics_ he thought to himself.

_Spotted: Chuck Bass fleeing to the side of one Waldorf in distress. Looks like we have our winner—but of course at a cost. Our condolences go out to the Queen B herself. Hope you can fit your glass slipper over that cast. Xoxo. Gossip Girl._

Blair bit her bottom lip with frustration after reading the message, haphazardly tossing the phone back down on the table next to the hospital bed, "Looks like Gossip Girl has outdone herself. Barely even an hour after I wake up and she's already posted a blast," Blair scoffed in disbelief, head craning back to look at Chuck.

Chuck deposited his phone back into his pocket and closed her chart, sliding it into its place at the foot of the bed. "Well," he drawled, slowly stepping back around to stand beside her bed again rather than at the foot of it. "You know how she loves to be the first to report on New York's most important people," he told her with a glint in his eye as he chucked her under the chin automatically. Still the softest he'd ever touched - or kissed, for that matter - he noted when he withdrew his hand and put it into his pocket once more.

Blair's lips pressed together in a tight line, "I suppose Gossip Girl tends to post about the top of the social hierarchy before dabbling into the lesser pools." Blair was frustrated, and confused. They were still at war, weren't they? And yet, he was touching her like they were old friends. Chuck opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, "Can we just forget everything for one night, Chuck? The lies, the betrayal, the stupid 'war'. Can you forgive me, just for tonight?"

He lifted his finger again (why he bothered stuffing his hands away to avoid temptation when he would just give into it anyway was beyond him by this point) and reached for a curl that dipped low on her forehead and brushed down across the apple of her cheek. He twisted it delicately around and around his index finger, savoring the somehow still silky feel of it, watching as it got revived to a bouncier, smoother spiral. He sighed heavily as he let it go, his fingers moving to her cheek, caressing the spot where he knew a dimple would appear if she smiled just so. Blair lifted her head slowly, eyes moving to his own, heart skipping a beat. Her eyes fluttered shut at her mind drifted to dangerous places. She wished everything could go back to the way it was _before_ Eva (that blonde bitch), and _before_ little Jenny Humphrey (bane of her existence). They were happy then, even after everything they still made it back to each other because every time they came back, all the fighting and pain was worth something.

He was touching her like she belonged to him again, like she hadn't spent months hating him and he almost a week loathing the very ground her designer shoes set foot on, and though he didn't have a right to he couldn't help it. He was correct when he said there was a pull between them, and when it was just the two of them in this little hospital room when she'd just been in a wreck… it would take more energy to fight it than it was worth. Plus, he was very aware that the words he'd decided on could be taken the wrong way initially. Best to touch her gently to keep her from getting more upset than was necessary. "No," he said decidedly in a soft voice.

His response was unexpected, and made the brunette's brow furrow and lips turn down in a look of confusion. She was getting ready to tell him to leave, that he wasn't even worth her time, until he spoke again…

"How am I supposed to forgive you," he cupped her chin then, "when you could have been seriously hurt today?"_ Well, she certainly found a way out of it,_ he conceded dryly. If he weren't so full of pride, he'd even admit she won - had he not come running to her, exactly as Gossip Girl had said? But what kind of scum would he be if he sat in the comfort of his home while the woman he loved (past tense, he reminded himself briskly) was turned into a factory with all the tubes and machines hooked up to her. He gripped the railing by the side of her bed then, casting a shadow as he loomed over her, staring at her intently. "If you ever come this close to a hospital bed again without either having children or being very, very old, then you'll see exactly what torment I'm really capable of. I need you alive and well if we're going to turn each other's lives into Hell."

Blair resisted the urge to grin. Leave it to Chuck to insult her, and make her feel better than any compliment (or bouquet of pink peonies) could in this situation. He knew what she needed, and he supplied it—that was one of the many reasons she'd fallen in love (not anymore, she sadly remembered) with him in the first place. She watched him closely as he walked to the opposite side of the room and retrieved a chair, gently shaking her head, brown curls flouncing in the wake. He really was full of surprises. "Believe me, _Bass_. The second I'm out of this bed and not hooked up to these machines, I'm taking you down." The words were playful, not harsh, but then again were they ever when speaking to Chuck?

Chuck pulled one of the chair's by her bedside closer before he settled into it after first removing his jacket, loosening his tie, and rolling up his sleeves to expose his forearms. He planned to be there for awhile, for at least as long as she would have him (or until Serena booted him), so he may as well be slightly more comfortable until that time came. He leaned back in the chair and folded his hands together, thumbs tapping lightly against each other. "What happened?" he finally asked. "What do you remember? Did Alexander seem completely alert today?" he asked, referring to the man he knew drove her everywhere and who he assumed had been driving her today.

Clearing her throat, she shifted uncomfortably in the bed, sitting up more so she could look down at him. Reaching up, she pushed some of her brown curls back behind her ear, which had been slightly blocking her vision. For a moment she didn't know how to answer his question, what _had_ happened? She'd assumed it was just a drunk driver. But, that early in the day? It didn't seem very plausible. Then again, she was in Manhattan, and it wasn't completely unheard of. "After class I went to the car, just like every other day, but I guess Alexander was sick or something since I had a new driver. I wasn't really in the mood to argue. I just got into the car and read a text from Serena, and then everything just…happened. I remember looking up and seeing it coming towards me, pain, and…the driver getting out of the car to call for help I assume." Talking about the incident was starting to make her feel vulnerable again, and she began tracing small patterns on the blanket. After a few moments of silence, however, she regained her posture and shrugged, "The other driver must've not been paying attention. But it doesn't matter, no one is broken beyond the point of repair." _That's not entirely true, is it? _She thought to herself, inwardly groaning.

_Of course it matters_ Chuck thought with a trace of annoyance evident on his strong features. _There shouldn't have been anything broken to_ need_repairing._ His eyes had grown narrow as she spoke - he wasn't sure _why_ he didn't like what he was hearing, but he didn't. Something about it got under his skin and made the hairs at the back of his neck stand up. Maybe it was the fact that she didn't know exactly why Alexander wasn't there - even the excuse of 'personal matters' would have sufficed. He made a note to himself to end the person who put her into this state. _Don't snap_ he chanted to himself.

Before he could voice his opinion, however, the door opened and Serena, a tall package of sunshine and daisies, entered the room, several people trailing close behind her.

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><p><strong>AN: Next up, unwanted visitors darken the mood. **


	4. A Very Merry UnWelcome

**A/N: Hate Humphrey and Vanessa? Yeah, we do too.**

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><p>"Blair you'll never guess who…" Serena's sentence trailed off as she noticed her best friend wasn't alone. "Chuck, what the hell are you doing here?" The blonde's posture changed, a glare settling on her features.<p>

"Hello to you, too, Sis. What brings you here?" Any semblance of amusement he had evaporated and he fought the urge to pull a face as Nate, Lily, Rufus, Eric, Dan, and even Vanessa all followed in after Serena and Nate. Didn't they have rules about this kind of stuff? Why was it where one of them went the rest of them had to follow? His eyes were unfriendly as he surveyed each one of them and they stared back, in between giving Blair alternately furtive, concerned, or sympathetic looks.

Though of course Blair loved the attention, she hated the looks she received and how incredibly small she was when engulfed by the hospital bed and machines. Plus, the coloring in that room was awful for her complexion. Blair shot her best friend a look that spoke volumes, and then turned a wide grin to everyone else in the room. "Thank you all for coming, but Gossip Girl was over-exaggerating." She slipped her ankle under the blanket, covering up her pain with that 100-watt smile. "I'm fine, just a couple bruises. No need to panic, or even worry. In fact, it's getting pretty late. You should go home." With her last words the smile dropped from her face, however, no one made a move to leave.

Serena set a few magazines and a bouquet of flowers down at the table next to the bed, and she heard Vanessa whisper in Dan's ear, inquiring as to why Chuck was here if they hated each other. Blair glared at Vanessa, but was interrupted by Lily.

"Blair darling, we just wanted to stop by and make sure you were alright—"

Dan Humphrey quickly added, "Yeah, and y'know, we figured you might want the, uh, the company."

Blair was the next to speak, "Shut up Humphrey."

Vanessa intervened, "Right, of course, why would Blair change. I forgot she wasn't capable of being nice, well of course except when it comes to Chuck, which…why is he here anyways? You'd rather have the company of _him_ then your friends? Last time I checked, you two _hated_ each other." Every one's eyes were on Vanessa.

Chuck, who had been keeping from intervening in the conversation with his hands wrung in front of him and eyes downcast, snapped up to look at Vanessa after she spoke, "Have you-" Before he could continue, Blair's voice cut across his.

"In case the message wasn't clear the first few…_hundred_ times, I am _not_ your friend, and choose not to associate with vermin from Brooklyn. I wouldn't visit you if you were in the hospital, so I don't know why you even bothered showing up."

Rolling her eyes, Vanessa turned and walked out. Dan gave Blair a look and excused himself from the room, following his dark-haired friend.

Lily reached down and squeezed Blair's hand, "If you need _anything_, just call. I hope you feel better, Blair." Lily and Chuck shared a soft smile before she and Rufus left the rom. At this point, Blair was struggling to keep her strong front, and her eyes landed on Serena and Nate after the married couple left. Their eyes asked the same question, one that Blair didn't want to answer. She faked a smile and shrugged uncaringly.

Chuck allowed himself to settle more comfortably into his seat, extending his legs and crossing them at the ankles. "Well," he started, sarcasm painting the syllable. "That was fun." Chuck eyed Blair carefully, watching the set of her jaw and the outermost parts of the corners of her eyes. They were just a bit too tight, and with the way her body was set it looked like she had made it her life's mission to turn into a wooden board. It was fine to let her skate by on a lie when he first walked in the room, but not when whatever discomfort she was in was starting to make itself present on her face, cracking the normally smooth, porcelain exterior she kept in place.

"Waldorf," he sighed, a twinge of annoyance on the fringe of his voice. "Either you take the medication by choice or I go out into that hall and get someone to give you a dose against your will," he stared her down as he talked, his voice surprisingly smooth despite the agitation that lurked beneath the surface. "I don't actually care which way this happens as long as it _happens_," he stressed the word sharply. He motioned to the fairer-haired company in the room, acknowledging them perhaps for the first time since they'd entered the room. "I'm sure I'll have reinforcements if I need them." Translation: _you will back me up on this unless you, Nate, want to be evicted from The Empire, and you, Serena, want to find __your credit __cards mysteriously maxed out._ Serena stared at him mistrustfully and he swallowed - could he really blame her?

Blair easily brushed off his threat and turned to face her best friend and ex-boyfriend. "Think about it, S. He only wants me to take the damn stuff so that he won't feel as bad about declaring war on me."

Serena seemed a little hesitant to take sides, but responded, "Blair, I don't think that's what Chuck's motive is, though I wouldn't be surprised." The blonde looked between the two of them, and then, "I think you should listen to him." Her voice was slow, cautious, and meek. She awkwardly gestured her hands, her large handbag obviously weighing them down.

Blair's look was one that said: _Pick a side, oh, and…you might want to think about the consequences before hand. Total social destruction lies ahead. _Serena looked at her, nodding slowly, then turned to glance at Nate who mirrored her expression. "We're gonna head out, see you tomorrow, Blair." The two of them caravanned out the door, only Serena stopped short and turned to her best friend, "Call me if you need anything, B. I'll stop by tomorrow morning with breakfast."

Blair nodded, smiled, and gave her a short wave, before turning back to Chuck,"Really, Chuck? You couldn't have waited until they left?"

Chuck raised an eyebrow sharply at her, instantly retorting, "And _you_ couldn't have given me the truth when I first walked through that door? Or at the very least gotten the medicine of your own accord?" he pressed to prove his point. "There's safety in numbers, every good General knows that. I had to take advantage of the opportunity."

She reached under the covers and pulled out the little remote, clicking the button once. "There, does that make you feel better now?" She sunk back into the bed, eyes rolling. "I told you I was _fine_."

"The important thing is that it makes _you_ feel better," he replied smartly before smirking. "You've told me a lot of things, Blair, or have you forgotten?" He hadn't. He remembered damn near everything she ever said to him. Every motherchucking basstard she would hurl at him along with heavy magazines, every time she told him she _loved_ him - him, of all people - and every time she would call out his name with incontrollable frequency as her nails made good work of his back in an attempt to restrain herself.

There was a cool tingling sensation running through Blair's body all of a sudden, and she assumed it was the pain meds doing their job. She hadn't realized just how uncomfortable she was until the feeling swept across her, muscles loosening, vision swimming. Had she pressed the button twice? The immediate reaction to the meds soon passed as she became more used to it, and she let out a soft sigh. "Chuck?" she was surprised at how small her voice sounded, "You don't have to stay here. I'm sure my mother is heading home from Paris. That is, if her beloved fashion line can suffice without her presence for more than one hour."

Chuck nodded at her words but remained perfectly silent. So long as she hadn't actually _asked_ or _told_ him to leave, he was going to stay right where he was.

Blair's movements were very lax, and she found herself investigating the small remote that the nurse had handed her. "What the hell is in this stuff?" She softly murmured, allowing the remote to fall out of her hands, gently rebounding on the hospital mattress. It didn't take long for the pain medication to lull Blair into a heavy slumber, and even though she _wanted_ to stay awake—she was thankful for the rest.

Chuck stayed up, practically guarding her, until exhaustion began to take its toll and he fell asleep, right where he sat, in the chair next to her hospital bed-any battle strategies or hatred for the brunette seemingly forgotten.

* * *

><p>"Mr. Bass?"<p>

A heavy frown pulled at Chuck's lips and his closed eyes tightened further against the disruption.

"Mr. Bass?" The voice that was saying his name seemed a little louder and bolder this time and with great effort he opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh lighting in the room, the realization that it was now morning hitting him. A friendly, older face came into view and he peered at it from under his lashes with sleep laden eyes.

_"_We're going to take Ms. Waldorf down for her MRI soon. It can take quite awhile, so perhaps now would be a good time to get some food, or coffee? Maybe clean up a bit?"

Chuck blinked heavily, slowly adjusting his body and biting back a groan. His jaw felt sore due to the fact it seemed he'd been using his fist as a cushion for a healthy portion of the night, and there was a crick in his neck from the awkward angle he'd slept at. MRI? He looked at Blair momentarily - she hadn't mentioned anything to him about an MRI, but then again, she hadn't been forthcoming with the fact that she was in pain yesterday either. What in Hell's name was he ever going to do with this woman? He stifled a large yawn before straightening up further and wiping a hand over his squinting eyes.

"Thank you," he said, voice thicker than usual. "Please," he started as he got up from his seat entirely, gathering his now rumpled jacket as he did so. "Keep me informed if anything happens with her," he finished. The nurse nodded warmly before disappearing from the room. Chuck turned toward Blair, a touch of a smile on his mouth after a moment - she was fast asleep against the pillows, blissfully unaware to the world around her still. After all the excitement, she needed the rest. He brushed some dark strands of hair away from her face before bending and pressing a feather-light kiss to her hairline. "You're in trouble when I see you again," he informed her slumbering figure before leaving the room.

The shrill ringing of the phones and the harsh clacking of ancient keyboards was jarring for him after leaving the mostly isolated room where the noise was considerably less. He headed for the elevator and pressed the button, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirrored frame of it while he waited. His exhaustion showed all over him, with his clothes wrinkled, his hair rumpled, and his eyes a bit redder than they usually were in the morning.

_"_Who is it for you?" a gruff voice cut through his inspection of himself and he turned to the side to spot an older gentleman. He paused for a moment, unsure how to answer or even if he should answer. Because what was Blair to him? She wasn't his girlfriend, but she wasn't his sworn enemy anymore either.

"A girl," he settled on, because that was as much of a label that he could give without downright lying. The old man nodded, understanding crossing his face.

"Women will do it every time." He spoke as if he had all the wisdom in the world and Chuck almost grinned. Almost.

"When it comes to this one you have no idea," he muttered faintly.

"She'll be okay. You'll have her back safe and sound before you know it," he said, clapping Chuck on the back as the elevator doors rolled back. Chuck nodded to him before stepping on and pressing the button for the basement, coffee on his mind. Much as he wasn't looking forward to the lukewarm, bitter brew waiting for him in the hospital cafeteria, it was about as much as he could look forward to - he wouldn't touch the food with a ten foot pole. He'd have to get decent sustenance in him when he left… maybe get something for Blair if she didn't like whatever Serena was bringing her this morning….

When he had settled down at one of the tables with a watery cup of coffee in front of him (what else could he expect for $1.50, though?) he pulled out his phone, his mouth pulled into a sour position with the aftertaste of the sorry excuse for coffee still fresh in his mouth. He'd neglected it since he got the phone call from the hospital yesterday and had a backlog of messages on it.

**Will kill U if this is 1 of UR games - S**

He deleted that one immediately - he didn't answer to his stepsister, nor did he answer to threats. Blair was the only person who could get away with threatening him.

**U coming home 2nite?**

Nate. Quickly he answered with a simple 'stayed here' so his roommate wouldn't be concerned. Ordinarily he wouldn't care, but given that one fourth of their group had come to harm it was probably best not to induce paranoia about him in the others. The rest were trivial and he quickly skimmed through and deleted them appropriately. He dialed his voicemail then and held the phone to his ear as he forced down another mouthful of coffee.

_"Mr. Bass, this is Pete Holmberg from the board of Bass Industries, I was wondering if we might be able to sit down to discuss some matters that I'm concerned about later in the week…."_ He pressed the button to the next one.

_"The next time it won't just be a bump on the head."_

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><p><strong>AN: The Chair action is pretty light right now, but that will change in two chapters. Stay tuned! Reviews help us work faster... ;)**


	5. Dark Knight turned White?

**A/N: Enjoy. Don't forget to review!**

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><p>Blair was roused from sleep by her doctor and the nurse. They informed her that they'd be taking her in for her MRI, situated her in a wheelchair, and carted her from the room. The whole process seemed to come as nothing more than a blur to Blair, as she was still pretty out of it from a mixture of the medication, and the fact that she still was accepting what had happened the day before. After the MRI, they brought her back to her room, set her up in the bed, and reported that they'd be back shortly with results. It was then that Blair realized Chuck was nowhere in sight, and her heart dropped.<p>

When the doctor returned, he explained to her, "Luckily, there wasn't much damage to your head. The impact left a bruise, but nothing more. You will need to wear a brace on your ankle and come in for a couple check-ups, but other than that you're free to go—though given your current state and how recently the accident happened, I would advise against it. As for your ribs, all we can say is that you need to avoid too much physical activity—they will heal on their own. The good news is that they're merely fractured, although we had initially assumed they were broken due to the bruising." That was when the doctor stopped talking, closed his folder, and looked down at her. "Ms. Waldorf, I pulled up your medical records and read that you had been admitted here two years ago because of your bulimia."

Blair nodded slowly, "Yes, _two years ago_."

He raised an eyebrow at the sharp edge of her tone, then continued, "Are you receiving proper nutrition?"

"Get out." Her reply was fast and icy, how dare he assume just because she was bruising easily that she was bulimic again?

"I understand that it's a hard thing to talk about, but we have your best interests in mind here, and think it'd be best if—"

She cut him off, "You know what I think are in your best interests? Shutting up and leaving, because if you don't, I promise you'll regret it."

The doctor seemed relentless, however he finally stopped speaking. "Perhaps it would be best if I spoke to Mr. Bass about this?"

Her eyes were cold, dead set on him, "_Don'_t."

He finally got it this time, "Very well," and handed her a piece of paper, "here is your prescription, I suggest picking it up before you leave, and we've provided you with some crutches."

"Thanks," she said dryly, "you can leave now." After calling in the nurse to help her get dressed, Blair texted Serena;

**Trying 2 leave, don't bother w/b-fast.**

Keeping her phone out, Blair decided to text Chuck;

**Where R U?**

* * *

><p>Chuck stopped mid-sip, perplexed and unable to recognize the voice. "<em>That was no accident, Bass, and we have no qualms sending that pretty lady of yours the same way your father went."<em> He felt cold, and sick, and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. "_On November 9th you're going to leave one million unmarked Euros in a bag by the statue of Hans Christian Anderson in the park at five PM. You will not wait around and you will not involve the police unless you want Blair Waldorf to have sweet dreams for a very long time."_

There was a click and seconds later the harsh mechanical voice informed him the message was over. The cacophony of emotions he felt was overwhelming. Firstly, and by far the most prevalent, was the irrational urge to make a mad dash to the stairs to ensure that whoever this raving lunatic was hadn't decided to stab a needle into Blair's arm or poison her with her I.V. Secondly, was the slightly saner urge to simply get up, go to the elevator, and wait for her to get back from her MRI if she wasn't back already and to continue keeping an eye on her like a hawk until he figured out what the hell was going on. And thirdly… was rage. No, that was a soft word - he was absolutely livid. His chair scraped and squealed against the linoleum as he stood up, holding his phone tightly and abandoning his coffee on the table with his purposeful walk towards the exit. How dare they, whoever 'they' was, pull Blair into this. He was Chuck Bass, his father had been Bart Bass - he wasn't surprised that he had a few enemies out there and he was fine dealing with them on his own and with the help of a few of the more… skilled contacts he'd made. This? It was unacceptable.

His phone pinged and he looked down it, spying Blair's name on the screen. He quickly opened the message, chuckling once - he could practically feel the impatience in the text and he could easily imagine the frown on her pretty lips.

**Patience is a virtue.**

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><p>Blair hated not being in full control of herself, which is why she wanted to get out of the hospital as soon as possible. She was sitting on the hospital bed facing the door, waiting for the nurse to come and help her get dressed, her feet swinging loosely a few inches above the floor. She was getting very impatient, very quickly. Her phone buzzed, notifying her that someone had sent her a text, and a smile tugged on her lips—she had assumed it was Chuck. However, the sender was none other than Serena;<p>

**Want me 2 meet U at UR aprt?**

Blair rolled her eyes and hit the respond button;

**No, I'm w/Chuck**

Her phone buzzed again, only this time it wasn't Serena. She couldn't help but grin when his name came up on the screen, and she read his text.** Patience is a virtue**. In Chuck language, that meant he was on his way. Shaking her head with a light scoff, she slipped the phone back into her purse, which was lying beside her along with the rest of the clothes she'd come with. The outfit was in relatively good condition, considering what it went through. The only real evidence that she'd been wearing it when the accident happened was the small brown stains on her shirt. At this point, she would've left in scrubs—she didn't care, she just needed to get out.

After what seemed like a lifetime (even though in reality it was only a few mere minutes) Chuck came sauntering through the door.

"Miss me?" he asked, a smarmy smirk accompanying his greeting. Although he was aware he was looking for some sort of reaction from her, if only to start his morning off with a little fun, underneath it he felt his stress level decrease minutely at finding her in one piece (more or less - certainly not harmed anymore than she had been when he'd left her that morning). He forced the troubling phone call from the front of his thoughts, focusing instead on his real priority.

Blair raised a perfectly manicured brow in response, "The only thing I _miss_ right now is civilization."

"Have the doctors said you can go?" He pulled his jacket on, attempting to straighten it out but it was hopelessly wrinkled until the dry cleaner wrestled with it. He cursed inwardly, realizing he'd forgotten to stop to comb his hair. A quick sweep of his jaw with his fingers on their way up to swipe through his hair told him that a fine layer of stubble had sprouted. The sooner they got out of there, the better.

"Yes, thank god. I'm just waiting for the nurse…"

"What did they find with your MRI?" he said then, giving her a look that said yes, I know about it; yes, you will tell me exactly what your injuries are; and yes, you are very much in trouble for not mentioning it before.

She groaned, couldn't he just drop it? "I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of this, Bass," his eyes held a different threat though, and while Blair loved challenging him, she decided that whatever could help her get out faster was worth the trouble, "Sprained ankle, fractured ribs, but my head is fine. The doctor said it just bruised, there was no actual _damage_."

Chuck nodded curtly before his line of vision then fell to the crutches that were propped against the bed and he eyed them skeptically. "Can you actually walk with those?" Anyone would have thought they were about to jump up and attack him with the way he was regarding them. "If you want a wheelchair, you'll get one."

She almost laughed at his reaction, but held it in, not wanting to show discomfort on her face in the event her fractured ribs didn't like it. "Chuck, my ankle is _sprained_, I'm not paralyzed."

"I still don't trust them, he said finally. "You're not wearing heels with them."

Before Blair had a chance to respond, the nurse that had been helping her this morning poked her head in, and smiled when she saw Chuck standing in the room.

"Great! Mr. Bass is here. I'm needed down in the ER, can you take care of Ms. Waldorf's dressing?" She didn't wait for a response before leaving the door frame and rushing down the hall.

Blair tried to call out for her, to say something like _"We aren't a couple,"_ or _"those days are behind us",_ but it was no use. She awkwardly swallowed and looked up at him, doe eyes swimming with so many different emotions. Chuck had a curious look on his face, a particularly interesting though running through his mind: _You see_ he wanted to say. _I'm afraid I don't know how to dress Ms. Waldorf. If, however, you have another situation where you need to undress her, please give me a call because I can assure you I'm a professional. I've never once torn a stitch or popped a button, at least not when it was very deliberate on my part. She's just so_ hot_when she wants to rip my head off for ruining her new silk Chanel._

There was an unspoken worry that their bodies might translate innocent act into something a lot more intimate. With a pair like Chuck and Blair, each touch ignited an old memory and brought about a feeling in her gut that she hated to admit was even present. They had started their relationship on a physical basis, and it was reflected through even their later years as a couple. Almost every fight would end with them rolling around between the sheets; she remembered every touch, every breath, and every little name he called her in the height of passion. Because of this, touching was extremely dangerous (even though the current situation wouldn't allow them to take it any farther, even if they wanted to).

Under ordinary circumstances Chuck would be thrilled to have any excuse to have her stripped to her underwear so he could stare lecherously at her in a public place. Given present circumstances, this was problematic for a few reasons. First, and most simply… looking at Blair fully clothed managed to send his imagination reeling, building fantasies that, once-upon-a-time, he would have made it his mission to turn into a reality. Seeing her with any amount of exposed skin only increased it tenfold and generally made him want to get her alone so his hands, lips, tongue, and teeth could explore said skin. Secondly…. He wasn't even sure how things rested between them. He'd been intent on slowly driving her to the brink of insanity not twenty-four hours ago. She got into a car accident, and he… what? Gave up? She'd asked him to come and he'd ran right to her side without a second thought (because, at the end of the day, didn't potential death experience outweigh a young adult's vendetta just a _little_ bit?). He invaded her space, bullied her into taking medication, and put himself through the uncomfortable event of waking up with a stiff neck and drinking cheap, mass-produced coffee. Not to mention, in the event that their most recent fight continued after they left this building, he would at the very least stalk her building to make sure nothing happened to her until he figured out who was behind this plot. Mind, stalking didn't lend the idea that he was someone who didn't care about her. Not to mention, he asked incessant questions and demanded updates on her - no wonder the nurse assumed there would be no problem asking him to assist her dressing. Hadn't he only done all that though because she had asked him to suspend their feud? _She didn't ask you to cease fire when you were ordering Arthur to run red lights to see her._ His lips pursed but he ignored that detail that was wriggling its way through his frontal lobe. Slowly he turned his head to look in her direction and locked eyes with her. Looking deep, deep into the rich brown pools that he'd nearly drowned in so many times before he could see that she was just as unsure of what to do about this as he was.

A shiver ran through Blair's body; why did all of her underwear consist of sexy La Perlas? _Because they're Chuck's favorite, that's why_, her conscience reasoned with her. Blair stood on her good foot, balancing by holding the metal railing attached to the side of the bed. She was just glad they'd allowed her to keep her underwear _on_. Clearing her throat, she reached behind herself and gently tugged on the small white string that was keeping the hospital gown closed.

"Let's just get this over with," she murmured, allowing the thin material to pool at her feet, revealing her white La Perlas. She would have felt sexy in this moment, had it not been for the deep purple bruising that marred the right side of her rib cage.

Chuck stared unblinkingly at her; wait, was she actually going to go _through_ with this? Her gown had seemed to fall in slow motion, though he knew that wasn't the case - shoulders, arms, chest, stomach, hips, thighs (those beautiful thighs), all were exposed before him in a matter of seconds. He scrutinized her underwear momentarily, quite literally unable to help himself (he was Chuck Bass, after all) and swallowed thickly before forcing his eyes to meet hers casually.

"These don't look familiar," he husked. "Are they new?" All an attempt to keep the atmosphere light and the tension to a minimum. That vanished, however, when his eyes honed in on the bruises over her side. Carefully he walked towards her, keeping his eyes on the angry purple bruises that varied in shade and size over her normally ivory skin. He'd kissed her right here… how many times? _If things were different, I'd kiss her there now and tell her she's still beautiful, always._

Blair stood there, frozen, unable to answer his question. What if they were? She couldn't recall, it'd been so long…so long since they'd been together. She swallowed, cautiously watching as he approached her.

Without even caring about boundaries at that moment, one of Chuck's hands went to her hip while the other went to her rib cage. His fingers ghosted over the pattern imprinted on her, hardly daring to touch and not wanting to cause her anymore pain. Heat and electricity sparked across her skin when Chuck touched her. Blair's eyes fell shut and she let out a small gasp—not at the pain, but at how much her skin (and body) responded to his touch.

"I used to like purple," he muttered under his breath. With each stroke the crease between his brow grew deeper and deeper, his eyes darkened, and his mouth set into a firm line. Just some bruises, but they instilled a chill in him that was unimaginable - he hated to think what could have been done if they'd actually been trying to do away with her in one go. It was simple, really - only he was allowed to cause her any harm. It would sound sadistic (well, it did anyway) if it weren't for the fact that not only would he never cause her any _physical_ harm, he would certainly stop well before she got near _death_. That wasn't the case with this other person, it seemed. His fingers dug into her hip momentarily before he released his grip as if he'd been burned, running his thumb over the spots.

"Sorry," he said quietly, then fully released his hold from her and backed up a few steps as if finally realizing he'd perhaps gotten a bit too close for their uncertain circumstances.

Slowly, Blair's eyes opened, and she answered his earlier question, "You've destroyed most of my others." The words were barely murmured. The statement went untouched, however, because they both knew the truth of it, and how dangerous it was to adventure into those murky waters at this point. Blair would never admit that the real reason she continued buying the La Perlas was because she loved the way his eyes admiringly ate her up whenever she modeled a new pair for him.

Chuck cleared his throat, as if ending their previous conversation, and reached for the shirt on her bed, the material delicate and girlish and completely _Blair_ between his fingers. He turned to her, having found the arm holes, but he still looked rather perplexed. On top of all the baggage that came with them being like this, he also wasn't kidding when he had thought that he didn't know how to dress her. Taking off clothes and putting them on were vastly different operations.

"One arm at a time," he said firmly, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. "Don't let go of the railing if you can help it," he continued. "If you fall, your next MRI might actually confirm there _is_ something wrong with your head."

Blair stayed silent, hand tightening around the metal railing on the bed. Slowly, she lifted one arm, but never broke eye contact. There was something about the way he commanded her, something about the darkening in his eyes, that she found completely mesmerizing. Chuck managed to pull the shirt over her head without too much contact, and they both let out soft breaths they hadn't know they were holding. Blair sat on the edge of the hospital bed and lifted both of her feet up at Chuck's command, waiting for him to get the skirt up over her ankles. The skirt seemed like it was the lesser of two evils, but Chuck soon found that to be wrong, his eyes hungrily taking in the expanse of her legs, his fingers gently brushing against her skin as he shimmied the cloth up her body. As much as the nape of the neck was his weakness, with Blair he found nearly every part of her could bring him to his knees. Chuck had fond memories of these legs - the way they would tighten around his waist when she was getting so, so _close_… the way they'd feel under his fingers as he pressed them open when his head was between them and his mouth was situated at her…. _That nurse should be fired_ he thought in frustration, when he finished pulling the skirt all the way up and settling it around her waist.

Once Blair was fully dressed (sans shoes) she slung her matching yellow purse over her shoulder (which now held both of her Louboutins). She struggled for a few moments trying to get her crutches situated under her arms whilst also trying to manage the large bag. She knew she probably looked like an idiot doing so, which is why she ended up extending her arm out to Chuck, bag in hand.

"Say what you will, but that bag is so much more stylish than those scarves you found _so_ charming in high school." She shot him a cheeky smile, before testing out her ability with the metal contraptions, which had already been set to her height.

Hazel eyes narrowed in on the bag when it was thrust in his direction and for a moment he considered sneering, because he was Chuck Bass and he didn't carry women's purses, especially when those women weren't even his girlfriend or any other relation to him. But she was her, so that put her a little bit higher up on the totem pole when it came to women in his life, didn't it? Besides, being Chuck Bass, he thought squaring his shoulders in confidence before taking the sunny bag from her extended hand, he should be perfectly confident enough in his manhood and sexuality to be able to carry a purse through a hospital floor and through the lobby just like dozens of other lesser men had been prodded into doing before him. He held it at his side (because as confident as he was, he decided that slinging it over his shoulder would just look downright ridiculous).

"Don't pretend to hate the scarves," he quipped back smoothly. "They were stylish and you know it," his lips curled in a smirk then and his eyes glittered like cut onyx. "As well as I know how much you enjoyed when I used them for something other than keeping my neck warm."

Blair ignored Chuck's innuendo, trying to hide a flush that rose on her features as she prepared for an exit. Apparently both the doctor and Blair, hadn't thought about the fact that she had fractured ribs, and had a nasty bruise. She stood, the pads of the crutches snug under her arms. It hurt, but it was bearable. After all, there was no way in hell Chuck was getting her into a wheelchair.

"Ready?" she piped, allowing him to open the door before walking out with her crutches. She went down the hall to the small nurses' station to inform the petite woman there that she was leaving.

"Ms. Waldorf?" the nurse asked, flipping through her papers, "It says that you've been asked to stay two nights."

Blair shook her head, "The doctor said I could leave." Her tone was exasperated, "You've got to let me leave."

The nurse tapped away on her keyboard, and then, "He requested you stay another night for observation."

"Observation of what? I'm not a lab rat, they did the MRI. _I'm fine_." The nurse nodded, "Yes, but he wanted you to stay under _other_ pretenses."

Blair gave her a sickeningly sweet smile, "Right…well, we spoke about that. He was mistaken. It's all settled. Leaving now."

Chuck, who had followed Blair out of the hospital room, yet stood a few faces behind to allow her privacy, snapped to attention when he caught the tail end of their conversation, staring critically at the nurse and then turning his sharp eyes on Blair. He blinked several times, hazel orbs narrowed into nothing with the more he heard of this exchange. With Blair, he highly doubted it was _nothing_.

She was hopping her way towards the elevator doors before he could say anything, though; he spared the nurse an inquiring look but walked on without saying anything. He stared at the panel of buttons for the elevator and bit his tongue for almost the entire ride - he wanted to ask, but he'd peppered her with a virtual stream of never-ending questions since she'd been admitted, and now that she had crutches to use on him if she was annoyed…. He would get it out of her somehow, someway. It was just a matter of biding his time and choosing the right words. God _damn it_this woman's reticence was going to be the end of him. He'd thought _he_ had problems sharing information! _The information isn't yours to know_ a nasty little reminder sounded and he scowled darkly at that because technically, at this point in time, it was right.

Once the doors slid open, Blair let out a dramatic sigh as they stepped out and headed towards the exit, "I hate hospitals." Craning her neck to look up at Chuck, she stated, "Please tell me Arthur is here. I don't want to have to ride in a cab barefoot." She shuddered, "Public transportation is disgusting, and for the Humphreys of the world. Not the Waldorfs."

"Of course he is," he answered promptly. "Did you think that I'd ever put us through a cab ride? Even if you did have your shoes on?" he grimaced. Why have cracked seats held together with fuzzy electrical tape and cramped seating areas when they could have a roomy leather interior and a mini bar? "He should be by the entrance I came in yesterday," he informed her, jerking his chin upwards in the direction of the large set of sliding doors he'd first strode through not twenty-four hours previously.

The day was warm with just a hint of crisp to it when they finally exited the building. Arthur began opening his door to assist, but Chuck held up his hand, signaling the man to stay put. He bent and opened the back door to the limo himself, patiently waiting on Blair (with as much patience as he ever had) to get into the car, as she slowly hobbled behind him.

The car ride was uneventful, Chuck and Blair didn't speak, yet the air around them was buzzing with energy, the tension extremely thick. When they finally arrived at her building, Chuck got out first, and she (again) tried to step out of the car as gracefully as possible. She didn't want to say goodbye just yet, so she motioned to her purse, her lips turned up into a pout.

"Would you be so kind?" she requested, hopping towards the door with her crutches, assuming Chuck to be following behind with her bright yellow bag. Once they reached her apartment, Dorota came rushing towards them,

"Miss Blair, what happened?" she demanded, taking in the crutches and ankle brace. Her eyes then landed on Chuck, and she glared. "Mister Chuck." She regarded in a greeting.

"Hello, Dorota," Chuck greeted her smoothly in his polite society voice .

"Dorota," Blair said firmly, "_Mister_ Chuck is a guest." She looked between the two of them slowly, before opening the bag Chuck was holding and rifling through it for a piece of paper. "Here," she said, thrusting her arm towards Dorota, but still trying to keep the crutch secured in the right position, "I need you to go pick this up. Now would be good." She smiled, that trademark smug grin.

Dorota looked at the paper, and it seemed like a light bulb went off in her mind. "Oh, I almost forgot!" She rushed over to the table (a beautiful bouquet of hydrangeas adorning it), and picked up a little envelope. "This came for you earlier, Miss Blair." The brunette snatched the envelope out of her hand. On the front her name was scrawled sloppily, and when she opened it up, there was a piece of nicely folded paper. She flipped it open, and it read 'Get well soon…' she cocked her head to the side, then rolled her eyes.

"Who sent this? Vanessa? I wouldn't be surprised if that Brooklynite wanted to suck up after so rudely insulting me, _and_ Chuck, earlier!"

Dorota shrugged and shook her head, "I don't know, no sender." She hurried past Blair and Chuck to the elevator, "I be right back with prescription!"

Chuck's eyes flashed menacingly and he scrutinized the bouquet, heat bubbling in his veins, fueled by anger and indignation. Someone had _sent_ the damn flowers, which, he decided, weren't actually that tasteful at all. They were the completely wrong color, the petals looked wilted and would probably fall off by the end of the day, and the leaves looked like they'd been chewed through by pests. His knuckles were white and his palm burned with the way he was holding onto the handles of her bag. He couldn't help it - picturesque images of her and a nameless, faceless stranger were parading through his mind. Blair and boy X attending a gala, Blair and boy X strolling through the park, Blair and- _No_. The fire in him was doused when a new line of thought struck him. Because, he realized, thinking back to the message he'd heard this morning, it didn't have to be an admirer to send her these flowers at all. Would they bother? Why would a get well message to her serve as a threat to him? _Well, isn't it threatening you?_ He didn't have proof, he tried to reason with himself. For all they knew it could have been Vanessa, and as much as he didn't like her, he found himself hoping that it was her.

Blair set the note down uncaringly, and turned to Chuck, relieving him of the bag (which he gave up regretfully—trying to think of another excuse to just stay a little longer), placing it next to the letter on the table. She just stared at him for a few moments before putting her crutches aside, balancing, and reaching up to gently frame his face with her dainty hands. All he saw was her hands, her small, perfectly (and sinfully skilled) hands raising up, up, up, and then they were touching his face, leveling his body temperature when he hadn't even known it was off. His hands went to her waist automatically, careful not to grasp too hard or too high, mindful of the bruises he'd seen on her skin before. His hands cupped perfectly around her slender form and he found his fingers splaying over her back and sides while his thumbs caressed her stomach through her shirt.

Slowly, Blair raised herself to her full height, and gently laid a kiss on his cheek, a small "Thank you" whispered in his ear.

His eyes shut when - he swore he could feel her lips move against his skin and he had the raving urge to ask her to put her lips _all_ over him. His head tilted into the crook of her neck and his nose dragged along her skin, up to her cheek, his lips brushing gently over the smooth ivory surface. This was the closest they'd been in awhile, he noted. This was the closest they'd been in… a_very_ long time. To him, it felt like some of the electricity from that morning in her hospital room when she'd stood bare before him, in nothing but her La Perlas, was back, charging the air between them. Not that there _was_ much air between them. _Kiss her, kiss her, just one little taste - God she feels so good - then you can pretend like it never happened. _He didn't however, memories of her voice looming in his mind, she'd told him she no longer loved him. It was over.

They parted almost as quickly at they'd come together, before Chuck was quickly speaking "Why don't I make a phone call and have some breakfast delivered for us?" he suggested in what he deemed to be his most persuasive tone. "I could do with an espresso - you'd be appalled to taste what passed for coffee at the hospital and I'd rather have it here then wait till I get back across town," he finished, attempting to appeal to her sympathies through the classist streak in her. It sounded perfect to him - because yes, he did need the coffee, but he could also do with staying in her company awhile longer, and perhaps ask what the doctors had wanted her to stay at the hospital for… Maybe he'd manage to swipe that card that had been sent with the flowers to have it analyzed. Neither one of the options he'd come up with particularly thrilled him, but he'd rather know what type of threat he was dealing with than grasping blindly in the dark. "I know you must not have eaten much lately," he wheedled. "Certainly not at the hospital. I won't take no for an answer, Waldorf," he said finally, smirking.

"I suppose I could use something to eat that isn't factory-made," her nose crinkled at that last thought, and was glad she hadn't had to experience the disgusting coffee Chuck must've had. "I wouldn't have bothered with the hospital coffee; I would've rather had Starbucks then that disgusting mulch." After a moment, she added. "Make yourself at home, I need to go change—I think I can do it myself this time, thank you." It's not that she didn't want Chuck's hands all over her half-naked body. In fact, she'd love that right about now, but she knew she wasn't in any condition to fool around at the moment, and if they were in her bedroom things could get out of hand. Not to mention the fact that while in the hospital, the whole public place thing deterred them from pushing it any further (not that it had in the past). Their relationship was too fragile right now. One wrong move and they'd be pushed back to the start; do not pass Go, do not collect two-hundred dollars.

Blair retrieved her crutches and hopped to the bottom of the stairs and gripped the rail; she was determined to get to her room by herself. After all, she wouldn't have Chuck by her side for the rest of her miserable existence (though she could _try_), and she would need to do it by herself one of these days. Slowly, she hobbled up the stairs, one step at a time. She'd found that she could apply a small amount of pressure to her injured foot without causing it much pain. After she made it to the top, she let out a triumphant smile, and limped into her bedroom.

Chuck lurked back by the table, watching her sharply manage her way up the stairs. He was unsure, but his faith in her increased steadily as she managed each new step that came her way, and soon she was all but disappearing from his vision. He turned then, making a beeline for the note on the table by her bag. It was plain, unordinary paper with no other marks on it save for the words scrawled on the inside. _Could be a generic florists_he noted. Either way, this person would either be or know of the person who sent the flowers, and whether it was a threat (he'd end them) or an admirer (whom he would pulverize), he wanted to know.

He pocketed it discreetly, highly doubting she'd miss it or even notice it was gone - actually, he was counting on that, and on the off chance she did notice or care, he'd feign complete innocence to the whole matter. He withdrew his phone and dialed down to the limo then, waiting for Arthur to pick up. "Arthur, I need you to pick up some breakfast and deliver it back to Blair's," he said crisply, strolling casually to the living room. "Make sure there are croissants, and…" a ghost of a smile flickered across his mouth and his eyes softened for a moment. "If you find any macaroons… please, pick up a small box," he instructed before ending the call. A shadow crossed over him for a moment and his eyes darkened once more, his jaw set as he dialed another number. He held the phone to his ear - it was ringing and ringing and he heaved a sigh of great impatience; this man was impossible to get a hold of when he felt he needed him most. Finally, there was an answer. "This is Chuck Bass," he returned, his voice like razor blades, his seething annoyance at having to wait so long shining through. "I need you to be at the Empire Hotel today at three," he continued, striding a little deeper in the living room. He doubted he wouldn't hear Blair coming before he was able to hang up - the call was meant to be short, for one, and she also wasn't the quietest person moving around now thanks to her accident - but he wanted to be safe. The quieter he could keep this, the better.

"I have some items that I want you to look into, and I need your work to be fast," he said. "It must be done in no more than twenty-four hours," he stressed. Even as he issued the order his skin crawled. He remembered the leering voice that had greeted him on his voicemail that morning informing him that he had three days. At five o'clock that very day one of them would already be used up, and by tomorrow he would be working his way through the second. He thought of the petite brunette upstairs who was currently changing into something that would no doubt torture him and leave him squirming in his seat, whether she knew what she was doing or not. Slicing into a portion of tomorrow's time was far, far too close for him… the hair on his scalp prickled, not wanting to cut it any closer than he had to with timing, not wanting to put her in anymore danger than she already might be. But what other choice did he have if he wanted results? "Be there, or I'll make sure the police get a very helpful phone call about just what you were doing in the Canary Islands last January." He ended the call and pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply. One million euros… he wasn't quite aware what the exact exchange rate was for the dollar, but by the last number he'd known he was looking at about one and a half million dollars, maybe slightly more. While it wasn't a sneeze, it certainly wouldn't hurt him or leave a (particularly deep) hole in his bank accounts. As it was, he was more frustrated that he didn't know who was threatening him than having to give away that piece of money. He stared, with a furrowed brow, right at his phone, his lips thin. Finally, he jammed his thumb into one of the numbers and waited for the speed-dial to kick in.

"This is Mr. Bass," he said, his voice filled with authority. "I'm going to be stopping by today. When I get there, I need you to have pulled one million euros worth of money from my private accounts." The voice on the other end of the line instantly stuttered and stammered. _"S-s-sir, there are procedures for this. You simply can't just call up, and… and as for euros-"_ He'd used up his patience for dealing with anyone who didn't have a pair of dangerous brown eyes, though. "I don't care what has to be done, so long as it gets done." He snapped harshly, glancing over his shoulder as he heard a pair of footsteps get nearer and nearer. Was she downstairs? "I'll be there by two." And with that he disconnected, turning around and forcing his expression to clear. He swallowed, as she hopped her way, crutches and all, into the living room, her legs long and inviting under the soft, pastel green of her nightgown. Yes, it really was just as well that she'd left him downstairs, he thought, tearing his heated gaze from her as the elevator arrived and Dorota came bustling in with the medicine.

"That was fast," Blair remarked, watching her maid scurry across the black and white tiled floor to Blair, small white bag in hand.

"Here you are, Miss Blair."

Blair accepted the bag, placing it down on the glass table in front of her. "Thank you, Dorota. That will be all for today."

Dorota raised an eyebrow, "But what about your injuries Miss Blair?"

She shrugged, "I'll be fine. Go spend quality time with your daughter! Go on. Shoo." She waved Dorota off, and, even though the woman was hesitant to go, she did.

However, before stepping into the elevator, she gave a pointed look to Chuck, "Remember, Dorota is watching, Mister Chuck."

He blinked when Dorota turned her gaze on him, eyes following her as she left the room, before he sauntered over to the couch and took a seat next to Blair, making himself comfortable by undoing the button on his suit jacket. He waited until he heard the elevator doors close before he cast a glance in Blair's direction.

"Well," he said, sarcasm practically dripping from the word, "I think she's going to warm right up to me again, don't you?" He smirked. "Arthur should be here with breakfast soon," he informed her. He loathed the next words that were about to come out of his mouth. While things had been better between them since the moment he stepped foot in that hospital room yesterday, they'd been the absolute best since they left the place that morning. Hardly a snide comment had been exchanged between them, and no cutting glances were shot when the other wasn't looking. It was almost like they liked each other again, like none of the unsavory stuff had happened to them. Opening his mouth now, to ask what he was going to ask… he wasn't entirely sure that it wouldn't ruin that. In case one hadn't noticed, Blair didn't exactly like to be fussed over, and he was surprised she hadn't actively had him removed from her bedside yesterday once he'd started in with imposing his will on her and forcing her to take the medication when it was obvious she was in so much discomfort. However, the curiosity was gnawing at him and he simply had to know, or at least try to pry the information out of her. "Blair," he said, his voice firm and his eyes not allowing for evasion. "What exactly was the nurse at the desk referring to this morning when she said that the doctors wanted to keep you there for more time under… 'other premises', was it?" he inquired, serious hazel irises flickering towards her crutches to ensure they were now resting in an awkward enough way that he would at least see her reach for them.

Blair rolled her eyes and scoffed, reaching forward and re-arranging a few flowers in the vase that adorned the glass table in front of them, "Like I told the nurse; it was nothing more than a simple misunderstanding." She cocked her head in his direction, brown curls slipping from her shoulders as she did so, a smile on her face. She tried to keep her cool—the only people other than Dorota and her parents who knew about her bulimia was Serena. She'd made her blonde best friend swear to secrecy. She didn't know what would happen if Chuck find out, he would probably be disgusted by her. Worst of all, she didn't know where their relationship stood at the moment, and if she were to tell him this secret, he might use it against her. She turned her eyes away, and they went back to staring at the flower arrangement on the table. They had been perfect before she touched them; there was no reason to move anything around. Sighing, she placed them back to where they were before and sunk back into the soft couch. "I hope you told Arthur to bring croissants," she said nonchalantly, looking anywhere but at Chuck. For a few moments she inspected her nails, silently deciding that she needed a manicure. A pedicure wouldn't hurt much either, now that she thought about it.

He could tell that she was trying to distract him, make him forget that he'd asked by rearranging flowers and inquiring about croissants, to which he'd replied, "You know I did, you'd hang me if I forgot those", but he wasn't going to bite any more than that.

Despite her fruitless attempts at derailing Chuck's train of thought, she could feel his serious gaze weighing down on her. Finally, she groaned, and pivoted to slightly face towards him. "I can't tell you. I…" she stopped, looking at him straight in the eyes, "Two days ago you declared a war on me. You wanted to take away everything that was important to me, and I would've—_already did_—do the same. And now, we're here together, like nothing changed. I told you I didn't love you anymore in Paris, but…" she paused, and swallowed hard, searching in his eyes for something that told her to go on, that he wasn't going to run away after she finished speaking, like he had done so many times before. "After seeing you with Eva, I just…Chuck, why do you think I got rid of her?" Blair stopped speaking, afraid to continue. She wasn't even sure what she was trying to tell him. First, she'd wanted to say she couldn't trust him, but her thoughts were completely changed when they drifted to Paris. _I don't love him. I can't, not after what he did_. The voice echoed over and over in her mind, trying to reason with her. But the truth was, she couldn't _not_ love him. She'd known from the moment she spilled those words outside of the Bass penthouse after Bart's funeral that she would love him until the day she died. She knew more about Chuck Bass than anyone on the planet—more even than his own mother. Blair had witnessed his darkest thoughts, been with him through all his pain and moments of sheer joy. She'd held his hand and convinced him not to jump off a rooftop. But her greatest feat of all, was getting him to feel. Before Blair, he feared feelings. Whenever something bad would happen, he'd escape to bottomless booze and meaningless sex. That's when it hit her. The reason he'd had sex with Jenny Humphrey after she didn't show up on time to the Empire State Building. It was because he thought Blair would no longer be in his life, he'd suffered one of the most crushing moments of his existence. He'd planned on proposing to her, living together, maybe even starting a family…and she hadn't shown up.

Chuck's heart hammered in his chest. Could she… did she… no, she couldn't. He remembered that night, he thought to himself frantically. He remembered her face, her eyes, everything he… he'd always been able to read her so well, always known when she was lying to him, when there was something she wasn't telling him. "Blair, you _said_… you said you didn't, you said you couldn't…. Tell me," there was a pleading edge to his words now, and he hated it but this was her. She was the only one who could ever make him drop to his knees, reduced to a simple servant at his Queen's feet. "Tell me if you… because I won't believe it until you say it, Blair. If you don't… then this conversation will have never happened." Chuck Bass had never been a religious man - he worshiped at the body of the female, his wine was scotch, and his bread came rolled and smoked. But right then, he found himself asking for help from anywhere.

Did Blair still love him? She turned it over in her mind, eyes dropping to where his hand gripped the sofa cushions. She knew those hands better than her own. They'd memorized her body numerous times, brought her to screaming release, been tangled in her hair while they kissed, and wiped away her tears. She followed the line of his arm up to his face, eyes still dead set on her. _Chuck Bass, I still love you_.

But she couldn't say it. She couldn't risk scaring him off when she needed him most. "The doctor came in and asked me _something_, and he didn't believe my answer. I wish I could tell you, Chuck, but…I haven't told _anyone_. Serena, Dorota, Daddy and Eleanor are the only ones who know. I can't risk all of Manhattan finding out something that _used_ to be true."

Nostrils flared and he tore his eyes from hers finally, his body lurching forward momentarily as if he was going to get up, but then he tipped back again, evidently deciding against it. His back still leaned forward and his elbows were on his knees. "I have never told…" he stopped, because that wasn't true. A memory of his scorned, nearly-seventeen-years-old self thumbing an angry text message to Gossip Girl informing her of Blair's less than virginal status entered his mind. He had told Gossip Girl one of Blair's secrets in the past, but hadn't it been just as much his to tell? He regretted the trouble it had caused her, but he couldn't regret the fact that it brought them out into the open. Instinct told him that she would have floated through life avoiding him, and that they never would have gotten a chance to be together if he hadn't sent the blast. No matter how many times they'd stabbed each other in the back since then, he couldn't bring himself to regret his action entirely. The elevator doors suddenly peeled back and heavy footsteps echoed through the foyer before his driver came into view, bearing containers no doubt filled with food. He set them on the table next to the flowers. He nodded at Arthur, dismissing him while the scent of fresh croissants floated through the air along with what his nose deemed to be sausages buried somewhere in the pile. Once the man had disappeared from sight, he paused for a moment.

"This is bigger than a war, Blair," he finally spoke again, his voice quiet and steely. "I wouldn't use this, whatever _this_ is, against you. I _won't_… even if you decide that this cease-fire is over after you finish your breakfast." Even as he said it, if she _did_ declare the truce over, he wasn't sure he'd have the heart to put his all into it like he had before.

A delicate hand reached forward and picked up a croissant, placing it on a napkin, and setting it daintily in her lap. She tore at the edge of it, taking a very small bite, and trying to be oblivious to Chuck's burning gaze. She swallowed, and raised her eyes to his. "Remember that spa trip I went on sophomore year?" She said nonchalantly, picking at the fluffy pasty as she spoke. Blair didn't wait for an answer, instead she paused, then kept going, "It wasn't a spa trip." She stopped moving completely now, fists clenching and unclenching, she struggled to get the words out. Maybe say it in a way that didn't sound as harsh as it really was. "My mother sent me to St. Luke's to put me under observation because…" she mumbled the last word softly, "I was bulimic." Her voice was so small; she wouldn't be surprised if Chuck hadn't even heard her. She refused to look at him, instead simply looking at the croissant in her lap. "It only came back twice, junior year, when I found out that my dad wasn't coming back for Thanksgiving, and then the whole Gossip Girl scandal. I was so stressed, and…" Her brunette locks fell in front of her eyes, and she was temporarily thankful for the barrier. "I must disgust you."

Blair's heart beat loudly in her chest, vision blurred, voice weak, but she continued, "The doctor looked at my records and thought I might've started again, since I bruised so easily after the accident. I told him he was wrong…he didn't believe me, and threatened to tell you." Taking in a shaky breath, she reached up and brushed the tears from her eyes that had yet to fall; taking the pastry out of her lap and placing it back down on the table. She'd lost her appetite. Instead she picked up her small white paper bag that contained her pain medication, unscrewed the lid, and popped one in her mouth. She would've initially gone for some alcohol, but she thought it was too early in the day to be drinking, and she didn't want to have to get up again with the pain-in-the-ass crutches. Her mind wandered back to the expression on Chuck's face earlier. He'd looked so hopeful, and she hadn't built up the courage to say what she felt. It pissed her off that, after all these years, she was the one having a hard time getting it out. _Three words, eight letters, just say it_.

Chuck felt his chest tearing or stirring or doing _something_ at her admission. He never, _never_ wanted her to feel like that was what she had to resort to, and he hated to think that at some point in her life that had been what she believed she'd had to do. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to resist asking if she was _sure_ that twice in their junior year were the only times that it had recurred, ridiculously anxious that he'd inadvertently been the cause of it at some point. But she'd said junior year and she claimed to have not relapsed now, despite the doctor's suspicions. He had to believe that she would tell him the truth about that, that she wouldn't withhold that sort of information, even if she thought it was protecting him.

He did his best to hide a heavy sigh before casting slanting hazel eyes her way, catching her peering at him cautiously from beneath those beautiful lashes. He lifted his hand then, touching it to the side of her face and then raking his fingers into her luscious mahogany curls so the meat of his palm rested against her ivory cheek, cradling her face. His eyes were dark and serious, and he realized this was probably one of the most important, stern moment he'd ever had with her. Even "I love you, too", the four biggest words that had changed his life forever (and for the better) had been light, happy, tainted only with the silent fear that she'd tell him he was too late, that she simply couldn't be with him because he'd taken too long to be able to admit his feelings to her. His thumb traced gently over the curve of her cheekbone just below her eye, as if he was fascinated by the smooth texture beneath his fingertip, and a half a beat passed before he spoke. When he did, he did so especially slowly, taking care to enunciate each word with more precision than his usual flawless mannerism of talking allowed for. "You could _never_. Disgust. Me." He waited for those words to be absorbed before he went on. "I don't ever want you thinking something like that, and please, don't insult me by thinking that of me. I could never be disgusted with the only person who I consider to be a worthy adversary. Anyone who disgusts me isn't worth my time, and you… are worth all of my time."

His hand drifted down then, loosening itself from her hair and finding its way to the back of her neck, his thumb pressing into the bottom line of her jawbone now. God, how many times had he nipped at that skin on his venture down her neck, down her chest, stomach, and…. He yanked himself from his thoughts rather rudely to continue with the more important ones. "If you _were_ doing it again, I would want to know." He wanted to say he would _expect_ to be told, but he thought that might come off as a bit too demanding (not that it had ever stopped him before). "And I need you to promise me," his voice was slightly gruffer now, "that you will… _never_ do… _it_ again…. That if you ever even think you might need to you will _call me_…" he paused then before adding as an afterthought, "or anyone else who knows about this. Because I don't… I don't want you doing it." It never ceased to amaze him how this one petite brunette could extract some of his deepest feelings from him as if she were swiping her credit card through a machine.

Her gaze now matched his own, brown eyes becoming stormy. She appreciated his concern, in fact, she expected it from Chuck, but he had to believe that she knew how to take care of herself. Had he not just seen her ascend and descend the stairs with a sprained ankle all by herself?

"_I told you_," she practically hissed, a sharp tone to her voice, "I stopped. It's been _three years_, Chuck."

"I know you haven't, Waldorf," he tossed back, renewing the use of her last name, impatience shadowing this eyes. "That doesn't mean I'm not going to be concerned, Blair," there was a cutting edge to his voice, the inflection having crept in automatically when she all but extended her claws and shredded him into ribbons. "I'm not going to pretend like everything is perfect and that this is nothing when you've just told me about it, I don't care how long it's been since you've last done it. This is new information to me, and I'm going to treat it like that."

Instead, she averted her gaze, and picked at the croissant on the table, his hand slipping off her neck as she moved. "Thanks for breakfast," she spoke, almost sarcastically.

He was suddenly acutely aware of tension between his shoulder blades and around his neck. It had disappeared, more or less, when he'd found her safe and sound in her hospital bed, but apparently the war he was fighting with himself about whether or not to follow through on the nastiness he knew he was capable or to reserve it until he knew that he, and only he, was her biggest threat had caused it to return, settling into his muscles and pulling them together to be tighter than ever. His fingers went to his own neck, rolling over it with his brows furrowed in annoyance as he attempted to relieve the pressure. Every instinct in him was telling him to get up, get out, and to not give a damn what she was doing for the rest of the day, or the rest of her life. He couldn't though, and that only served to annoy him further - even broken up, she still had her claws in him, twisting them deeper, making it impossible to extract them without losing large chunks of himself that would leave him permanently disfigured. "Damn it, Blair," he snapped, still rubbing his neck. "You don't _ever_ get to bitch about me withdrawing ever again."

"Don't you have some stupid meetings to attend to?" She asked, venom dripping from her tone. Who was she kidding? Chuck and her weren't a couple. The other night when he'd came to her, there was a vicious edge to his voice.

"Yes, I do actually," he said, answering sharply. "So, if you'll excuse me," he rose, glowering in her direction, and exited the penthouse, without another word.

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><p><strong>AN: Reviews make us update faster! Really! And you're going to want the next chapter...that's a promise. Next up...The Sweetest Torture.**


	6. The Week Long Itch

**A/N: Okay, so I lied. The next chapter will be The Sweetest Torture. In the meantime...enjoy, and don't forget to review!**

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><p>Blair watched Chuck's retreating form with a pit in her stomach. Blair felt guilty—<em>was guilty<em>—for pushing him to an outburst, but she didn't (_couldn't_) show it. Instead she crossed her arms and legs, watching him with raised brows as the elevator left. Once he was out of sight (but not out of mind), she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself. She sat there for a few moments, simply staring at the wall and thinking about what she would do in his absence. Chuck would be back later, there was no arguing that. After a few moments of silence in which she contemplated what to do, she stood (without the crutches), and decided to put the breakfast food away so it wouldn't spoil. She'd usually tell Dorota to do it, but since Blair had dismissed her maid, she was out of luck. After hopping into the kitchen with the bag of food, she began unloading it into the fridge. At the bottom, she found a medium sized box with a lavender ribbon around it. Curious, she opened it up, and saw it was filled with macarons. Her heart sank. Chuck must've told Arthur to pick them up. This made her feel even _more _guilty of the way she'd treated him earlier. He really didn't deserve it, he had just been trying to look out for her.

Blair was upstairs next, having carried up both her crutches and the box of macaroons. She decided to take a bubble bath; after the two days she'd had, she was in need of some comfort (and cleanliness, not to mention). After removing her clothing and ankle brace, she slipped into the hot water with a deep sigh; all her worries seemingly flying out the window. The hot water even felt good on her ankle and bruise, which was a plus. Her eyes landed on the box containing the macaroons, and she smiled softly at the gesture. _Chuck Bass, thoughtful, who knew?, I really should thank him for these_. He hadn't even mentioned he asked Arthur to get macarons. Her lips turned up into a frown, she hoped he still wasn't sour about her rude goodbye earlier. He had to know it was just Blair being Blair. She sunk into the tub, ignoring her phone as it chimed to inform her she had a new text message. Instead her thoughts went to earlier at the hospital, when Chuck had practically devoured her with his eyes. His hand had gripped her so tightly—it'd reminded her of times before when he'd had her pinned against the wall, lips teeth and tongue feasting on her flesh. Slowly, one hand slipped under the water, gently traveling down south, across her supple skin. Her eyes fluttered close, and her head fell back, and then her phone rang for the tenth time.

Cursing, she picked it up, annoyed, "What?" she spat harshly, not even caring to read the caller ID.

"_Blair, darling, is something wrong?"_

Sighing, Blair answered, "Hello mother. No, I'm fine."

"_Good, I wanted to call to check on you. Lily said you were doing well. Sadly, I won't be able to make it. There has been a major problem with Waldorf designs, and…surely you understand?"_

"Of course."

"_Great. I love you, and get well soon, dear!"_ The line went dead.

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><p><em>I need an appointment with my masseuse,<em> Chuck groused to himself, immediately stepping onto the elevator when it arrived. "Don't let anyone up to Ms. Waldorf's beside her parents, Ms. Van der Woodsen, Mr. Archibald, or Dorota," he threw at the doorman as he passed him by. Arguably, it was extreme, except he knew for a fact that not all of Blair's minions were loyal, so it was perfectly sensible to disallow them. He received no answer, but knew he was heard (her doorman was used to the spats between Blair Waldorf and Chuck Bass). He dug into his pocket and extracted the card he'd swiped from her table, frowning deeply at it - until he knew who this was from, he wanted to feel somewhat confident that while she was alone, no stranger was going to slip up into her apartment and lace her gin martini with arsenic. It _did _cross his mind that he was being overbearing - however, he just… didn't know how to fix this, to make sure she was okay, while they were still on such unsure footing. It wasn't technically his job to take care of her, and yet he couldn't help it, certainly not when he was this involved in why she was potentially at risk.

_"_Mr. Bass, what can I do for you today?"

It was several hours after he had left the Waldorf Penthouse. Hidden discreetly in his room was the money he'd managed to get his hands on (after, it seemed, jumping through several hoops that he deemed highly unnecessary), and currently Andrew Tyler was sloping back into his seat like they were old friends. Chuck placed the card on the table in front of him before sliding it towards the P.I.

"I need you to do some digging. Pick up whatever you can pick up from this," he said. "That's secondary, though." He withdrew his phone from his pocket and dialed his voicemail before handing it over. His eyes were glued as the other man listened, and when it was over he took his phone back, punching in a handful of numbers. "I'm forwarding that message to you," he informed him. "I trust you'll be able to find a way to determine who it's from?" The other half of that question was clear - _and how to give them hell._ "I also need you to do some digging regarding the wreck itself. What connection her driver had, if any."

Tyler chuckled darkly but Chuck remained unsmiling. _"_Trust me, kid, I know how to do my job."

The two of them stood up and Chuck met his gaze levelly. "Just remember to do it _soon_." Five o'clock was rolling in on them, and the sky darkened more by the minute due to the storm that was blowing its way in. "I've lost twenty-four hours already." Every moment leading up to his deadline would be crucial. He escorted the man out, getting into his own limo once he'd left the building.

The next week or so dragged by slowly for Chuck. Worry consumed him, and he constantly felt the need to return to the Waldorf penthouse, make sure she was alright. Of course, he also knew she was angry with him, and doubted she'd want him around. Being Chuck Bass, he had his ways of checking up on her, and he did so. Every day. That was, until he felt it'd been a long enough time for her to cool down.

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><p>A week or so had gone by since Blair had seen Chuck. She'd thought about him on numerous occasions, hoping he'd show up at her penthouse with peonies and Dom, but it never happened. Of course, why would it? They were…she wasn't sure what they were, but they weren't a couple. They couldn't be, until she made amends. However, her stubborn attitude, and pride was preventing her from cracking open and telling him she still loved him, and that it would never change.<p>

Blair cursed under her breath as her phone chimed once again. Serena had been on her case ever since the accident, stopping by, texting, calling. Blair's injuries were healing quickly (thank god, how was she supposed to go into public without a pair of Louboutins or Jimi Choos on her feet?), and she was now able to walk on her foot without crutches. There was no evidence she'd ever been hit in the head, and the bruises on her ribs were fading. Blair responded to Serena's text, inquiring if she could come over, and told the blonde that she'd be free for a few hours.

An hour later Serena arrived and greeted her best friend. They chatted about boys and gossip mostly, keeping the main point of interest off of Blair's injuries. The whole encounter put her in a good mood, and they ended up curling into Blair's bed watching Hepburn movies.

"Hey B?" Serena stated after she'd been there awhile, craning her head to look over at the brunette.

Blair's only response was the quirking of a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

"I'm gonna go, Colin is waiting. Oh, and…" the blonde sat up straighter, lips curling into a mischievous grin, "I might not come back tonight." She leaned forward, placing a kiss on her best friend's head and jumping out of the bed.

"You're gonna leave me here?" Blair whined, pausing 'Breakfast at Tiffany's'

"Yep. See you tomorrow!" Blair picked up one of her small blue pillows and chucked it at her friend as she slipped through the door.

As Serena began descending the stairs, there was a ding and the elevator doors opened.

"Honey, I'm home," he called, before his eyes landed on Serena.

"Chuck," Serena regarded, making it all the way down the stairs and coming to a stop in front of her stepbrother.

"Serena," he looked her over, briefly assessing her appearance. "Whoever he is, I hope he has fun."

Serena chose to ignore his crude comment, "She's upstairs." The blonde sauntered past Chuck and pressed the elevator button, slightly turning to face him, "And just for the record—she feels badly about last week." Serena then stepped into the elevator, and left the building.

Chuck pursed his lips momentarily when Serena added her commentary (unsolicited, he added, ruffled). He wondered how much his stepsister had actually been told of what happened between him and Blair (how much she had actually remembered), but this was the two of them. Chuck had been in a relationship with Blair for nearly a year, and they'd been dancing around each other while blatantly (in retrospect) insanely in love with one another and he hadn't gotten some of the details out of her that she'd spilled that afternoon while Serena had. Apparently, different sex organs made a world of difference when it came to knowing Blair Waldorf's secrets. He almost wondered if he dared to go up the stairs - a part of him would rather have Blair angry and spitting like a cat than have her morose and not have any idea how to cheer her up or convince her it was alright (just so long as he wouldn't have to see those eyes filled with tears - they brought him down every time).

It was inevitable that he would go up there, though, so he ascended the stairs, taking his time walking down the hallway to her door. He didn't bother to knock, pushing open the door that had been left slightly ajar in Serena's wake. He spied a pillow on the floor and bent to pick it up, his line of vision landing on the bed finally when he straightened up once more. That was when he froze, suddenly grateful that he had a pillow in his hands - with the way he was holding onto it, his palms would have been gouged beyond repair if the fluffy buffer weren't there.

She had her back against the headboard, sheets rumpled and pillows strewn about, the deep emerald slip she wore hitched high on her thighs. The half-empty box of the macarons he'd bought her lie on the table next to her bed, along with her cell phone, pill bottle, and two glasses of champagne (that she and Serena had been drinking). She slightly flattened out the sheets and pillows, leaving the movie on pause, and picked up her glass of champagne, gently bringing it to her pink lips and taking a lady-like sip.

Before he could even realize that perhaps he should try to hide the way he was looking at her, he was already doing it. His eyes were dark as he dragged them along her skin, starting at her ankles, moving up her calves and thighs, stomach, breasts, neck…. Eyes. Eyes that could be as black as night under the right circumstances. Eyes that could break him down without even looking at him. Eyes that rolled, fluttered, and squeezed shut so damn beautifully while the rest of her body was contracting around him and her vocal cords were straining to be heard and worn out at the same time. His breathing deepened and he felt blood pounding through his veins. _Enough, keep it together._ It wasn't fair for her to spring this on him - there was only so much he could handle in one day, and having seen her in her underwear that morning, looking at her lying there in a bed that looked as though she had been thoroughly ravished in it and a nightgown that was asking to be slid off her bit by beautiful bit…. This was his punishment - nineteen years of debauchery, and this was the sight he got to repay him for it. It wasn't _fair_.

"Bass," she greeted, a sassy edge to her voice. She'd decided long before his surprise arrival that she wasn't actually mad at him about before, and she had a feeling he already knew that.

He approached the bed carefully, eyeing her suspiciously, as if she'd _planned_ for him to be this tortured. Then again, this was Blair Waldorf they were talking about - of course she'd probably planned this somehow. "Waldorf," he returned, the wonder and curiosity evident just on the tip of her name. He swept the immediate areas with his eyes, doing a quick assessment for himself before he started in with the questions. Pill bottle, cell phone… he smirked then, his eyes landing on the box of macaroons that lay on her bedside table, open and half eaten by the looks of it. "I see you found the macaroons," he noted, tossing the pillow onto the bed.

"Yes," she stated, "Thank you, by the way, that was very…_thoughtful_." She regarded him with the tipping of her champagne flute, only to have it snatched out of her hand a minute later, "Hey!" she shouted, watching as he downed the contents of the glass quickly. "That was the last of the bottle!" she whined, hitting him with the pillow right before he sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for one of her macarons.

"So," he drawled, "What exactly did you do to keep yourself occupied this past week?"

It seemed to happen in slow motion as he picked up the delectable sweet, pink tongue darting out and slipping between the cookies, tasting the cream. Blair felt her breath hitch in her throat as she watched him slowly devouring the treat. Her hand went to her collar bone, was it getting hot in the room? _He's trying to torture me. Basshole. _As if watching him lick and sultrily consume the cookie wasn't bad enough, after swallowing it, he licked each finger that held excess sugar. A warm tingling sensation reached her belly, and she became all too aware of her increasing body heat. There were several other places on her body she would love that skilled tongue and warm fingers to be right now. Sadly, he interrupted her thoughts with a question. She was so transfixed on his mouth, however, that she didn't hear it.

"What?" she asked, breaking herself from the fantasy and looked up at him with slightly hooded eyes.

"Never mind. I guess I know," he said, turning towards her with a grin. "I guess three is never a crowd so long as Audrey's in your company."

"Oh, yes, well…I can't leave the house. I'll be damned if Gossip Girl gets a picture of me on crutches. Plus, shopping would be more of a hassle then it would be rewarding. Especially if I wanted new shoes." She glanced down at her feet with a sigh, her left foot wrapped snugly in the black brace.

"Besides…staying in bed all day isn't so bad, as long as you're not alone." Her voice turned sultry when she said this, giving him her trademark smirk and quirked eyebrow. She wasn't sure what had come over her; all the sugar and alcohol could be making her happier, or in this case, hornier. However, she silently cursed herself due to the fact that, if they were to succumb to their desires, they'd have to be careful because of her injuries. _Whatever_, she thought, _I like being on top_. Blair reached over to her bedside table for the television remote, and turned off the device. She didn't want to make Chuck sit through the movie again; god knows she'd made him do so countless times before.

He stared at her stoically at her declaration. _Perhaps when you want to do that again, I could be bothered to keep you company._ The words purred in his mind, dying to be said in a velvety way that would have her melting and agreeing to his will faster than he could snap his fingers. Despite the pretty green of her nightgown, though, he was very aware that a more threatening purple color lay underneath it, stretching over her ribs. And then she was stretching, her neck exposed and long as she tilted her head back, her chest pushing forward. It would be so easy to reach out and touch her, to just cup the soft weight in his hand. He'd run his thumb over her nipple and she'd make that breathy little sound he so adored. Then maybe he'd suck one of them into his mouth and roll it against his tongue, getting it harder and harder…. _Something's_ getting harder, he thought to himself, and when she groaned his eyes fluttered shut, teeth clenching together. He swiped at his eyes with one hand before dropping to let his elbows rest against his knees, doing his best to discreetly hide the problem she'd inflicted on him and to get his breathing normal again. He _was_ being punished, there was no way around it - with her half-dressed, stretching and groaning, yet covered in bruises, it would make it impossible to touch her. _You go deeper when she rides you for all you're worth_.The nasty, torturing thought barged into his mind.

Blair didn't seem to notice his subtle attempt to hide the growing problem between his legs, though that had been the intention of her small stretch. She smirked at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she nonchalantly then asked, "So, Bass, how was work today? Any groundbreaking investment ideas?" She cocked her head slightly to the side, smirk still firmly in place. She knew asking about his job wasn't exactly the best pillow talk, but then again, she was trying to be discreet and nonchalant. Whether he had known how much eating that macaroon had affected her or not, she blamed him for starting the fire inside her that would no doubt explode if she didn't get her way. She hadn't noticed as they began talking, but rain was now pelting the windows, and she heard a crack of thunder in the distance. The sky was no doubt overcast with dark heavy clouds that blocked whatever remaining sunlight was left.

Grateful was hardly adequate for how he felt when she brought up business. Anything, _anything_, to get rid of the dully throbbing feeling between his legs, to get rid of it before it could turn into a full blown hard on that demanded to be buried deep inside Blair, Blair, Blair. Any random girl from a bar wouldn't do tonight if he got going (not that they ever did, really, but he would at least be able to get off usually), and at the rate this was going he'd need his vivid imagination, his desperate hand, and copious amounts of lube to imitate her- "Every investment idea of mine is a groundbreaking one, Blair," he mustered the ability to pull together a smirk, turning his head. His tone was condescending, but underneath it all there was a lighter stain - he wasn't _actually_ trying to insult her intelligence, just being the arrogant Basstard he always was. "But I didn't actually make many of those this week. It's hard to when there's nothing I see worth investing the time or energy into." _Except you_, he tacked on mentally as his gaze continued to bear down on her. "My advisors felt it was necessary they discuss the trends in stocks with me, apparently," he said dryly. "The board of Bass Industries also had some questions regarding recent movements. It seems that even though I'm not exactly in charge of the company right now, the fact that I bear the Bass name still leaves me relatively important. But you probably figured that already," he said with a cocky grin.

"I don't know how you do it," she said slowly, watching as he adjusted his sitting position in her bed, "It just seems so…" her train of thought, however, was derailed when he pulled her injured foot into his lap and slowly began running those talented (god _so talented_) hands across the silky smooth expanse of her legs. She watched, spellbound, as his hand slowly slid up and down, up and down, never traveling past her knee, his fingers leaving electricity in their wake.

The rain smacking angrily against her windows was hardly heard by him - it was all dulled by a roar in his ears that had him focused on wanting to kiss her mouth and taste the remnants of sugar and champagne on her tongue for himself. He'd spread her legs then and settle himself between her thighs to taste a different part of her, with her legs shaking from release while cries of his name filled the room….

"How has the pain been?" he asked, brushing his hands over the material of her brace and skimming over the surrounding skin.

"It's fine," she said with a shrug, "My ankle doesn't really hurt," she drawled nonchalantly, gently rolling it to prove her statement, purposefully brushing her toes over his slack-covered crotch. "As for my ribs…" she started, "It only hurts when I bump them, and in that case, the pills work wonders." Her pink lips curled upwards into a smirk, "Though, I'm sure you already knew that."

An unapologetic grin stretched over his face at her cheeky remark and he bounced back instantly. "The blue ones have always been my favorite," he agreed. "If you take three instead of two they do some really interesting things to you before you pass out," his voice was low, gravelly, like he was letting her in on a well-kept secret. He contemplated the bottle for a moment, before finishing, "It's good to know they didn't give you the generic version."

Blair had barely even registered he'd spoken, his hand was beginning to distract her again, and her eyes flickered down momentarily, silently willing them to slip up past her knee, across her creamy thighs, and finally to where she wanted—_needed_—him most. She felt another rush of heat, and could feel pink burning slightly in her cheeks. She looked back up at him and swallowed, there was a darkness burning in her eyes, one that was beckoning him best she could. She didn't really care much about where their relationship stood now. It'd been over a year, _a whole damn year!, _since she'd had Chuck Bass buried deep inside her to the hilt, right where he belonged.

_Screw it_, she thought, picking herself up off the backboard. Blair wasn't going to let some stupid injuries hinder her from getting what she wanted. She was Blair Waldorf, and nothing, not even Chuck Bass, could stand in her way. Her dainty hand reached out, and wrapped around his shirt collar, forcefully pulling him forward. The moment their lips touched, Chuck's mind went blissfully blank save for the thought of _fucking finally_.

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><p><strong>AN: Next up...smutmsutsmut. Also, thank you to Dr. GG and geller516 for the wonderful reviews (as well as everyone else)! ;)**


	7. The Sweetest Torture Pt1

**A/N: Warning, smut lies ahead. **

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><p>There had been a rush of nerves when Blair first dove into the kiss, scared that maybe he might reject her, or that he wouldn't return the gesture with equal fervor. Chuck's hand zipped up to her thigh, though, and grabbed it selfishly, his fingers spread wide so as to cover as much of her skin as possible. Both of them, Chuck realized with satisfaction as her own hand went for his hair, small tingles erupting at the base of his scalp when she gripped it firmly, were feeling as needy for each other as the other was. Blair moaned against his lips, unable to contain it, that familiar heat building in her core as she felt her La Perlas get slightly damper.<p>

Her other hand soon joined the first and tangled at the back of his head, slowly sliding forward to cup his soft skin. It caused his mouth to curve against hers and then he was licking at her bottom lip, coaxing her mouth open (_wider, just a little wider_). His tongue eagerly lining her bottom lip, begging for entrance, was Blair's signal to allow her lips to slip open, head slightly titled as his tongue gently slid into her mouth. God, she was…. He groaned low in the back of his throat, swiftly landing on a decision. He was done. His hand left her thigh (drawing a whimper of protest from her) only to arrive at the front of his coat, nimbly undoing the buttons he'd neglected to take care of when he sat down on her bed.

So many emotions that had been swirling and building within him were finally getting released now. They refused to be silenced any longer - all the frustration, the fear, the guilt, the need, the lust, the… love… this was all of it, and _she'd_ kissed _him_. She'd initiated it and given her approval and he… was powerless. He wasn't strong enough to deny her, not like this, not when thunder and lightening was splitting apart the sky and there was no where else he'd rather be than right here with her. He did away with his jacket promptly, tossing it onto the floor behind him. Eagerly, Blair reached forward for his shirt buttons, her mouth leaving kisses from his jaw down to his neck while she popped each button of out their holes as fast as she could manage without simply ripping the thing to shreds (which she's slightly embarrassed to say she's done before).

As she worked along his buttons, his hands groped her body - thighs first, but now he was more focused on touching everywhere since for this moment in time he was _allowed_. It had been a long time, and he had other parts of her body to greet. Her waist was next and he quickly skimmed over it, moving up her sides (careful about pressure on her ribs) to cup her breasts through the material of the nightgown. Before he got settled there, however, he let his hands wander behind to her back, and when he found the area completely devoid of any coverage (thanks to the person who had invented the concept of 'backless') he was wickedly delighted, his hands dipping low and coming to rest just above her ass.

Having finally undone all of the buttons on his shirt and yanked it impatiently out of his pants, tiny hands were confidently pushing it his shoulders and down his arms. Chuck removed his hands to shake himself free of the suddenly very constricting material, stopping short at the look on her face. Her smile and the general glow about her face nearly knocked him breathless; if he hadn't known it before, this moment would have told him that she was indeed the most exquisite being that he had ever happened to come across, and that it was a tragic day when not everybody could be as awe-inspiring as she was. He lifted his hand and brushed it across her cheek softly, a tender act in the midst of the uncontrollable passion. Tender as it was, that didn't stop him from accepting her returning mouth with zeal, a strong hand grasping her chin and pulling her mouth into his with a needy force, like he could somehow get her to merge with him if he just kissed her this way long enough.

He knew he should be savoring this moment, their first time together in ages. But he'd never done well with slow, and his patience was wearing thin - namely, his patience with her, because here he was, divested of his shirt, and she was still obscenely clothed. He released her chin only to lead his fingers to the hem of her nightgown, pulling on it with far less care than she had his shirt buttons. If it ripped, he'd buy her another one, but soon his fingers were gliding under the silky material and over her skin, the fabric riding higher and higher as he pushed his hands up her body. His hands brushed over her bare breasts, before he broke the kiss and pulled the nuisance up and over her head, letting it land… somewhere.

He couldn't see where, because his eyes were only for her. They were dark as a pitch black sky while they drank her in, watching the rise and fall of her chest and the way her nipples flushed deeper than the rest of her body. For a moment he lingered on the bruises, and then he was leaning in, kissing her softer than before but with the same passionate, lustful edge that said the desire was still very much there. "You," he mumbled against her mouth. "Are perfect." He stood then, tugging on his belt. There was a jangle of metal when he unfastened it and once he'd unzipped and unbuttoned his pants they dropped to the floor and he kicked them to the side. With a devilish smirk he lifted her leg by the ankle that wasn't sprained and knelt between her legs, his hands moving up the inside of her thighs. "Lay back for me, lover," he crooned, the old pet name flowing from his tongue easily. "I want you to be comfortable when I torture you."

There was an immediate increase in Blair's heart-rate with the anticipation of what was to come next. She dropped back onto her elbows, unable to form coherent words as soon as those talented and downright sinful fingers began closing the space between themselves and the apex of her legs. As soon as the tips of his fingers brushed against the front of her La Perlas she felt another rush of wetness pooling in the black lace and silk, her eyes rolling shut as she let out a breathy, "Chuck." He'd reduced her to a puddle of jello, and her vocabulary now only consisted of; Chuck, more, faster, harder, and fuck. Silently, she thanked Serena (and especially Colin) for leaving the Penthouse for the night. Her doe eyes fluttered open to look down at Chuck, his eyes gazing _so_ deeply into her own. She swallowed, both in excitement and nervousness. His eyes held many promises for pleasure, and she hoped she would be able to keep up.

Smirking, he bent and placed a kiss at the inside of her knee, letting his breath fall against the skin. "Don't be nervous," his gravelly voice instructed her, placing another kiss farther up her leg, this time on the inside of her thigh. "I know how much you love this. How you love not knowing where I'll put my tongue," he flicked at her skin, "or teeth," he clamped down lightly, this time on the inside of her other leg, immediately following it with a kiss. Her only response was a soft, almost painful sounding whimper, and her eyes dropped closed again. He was trying to kill her; that was clear. Every little place his teeth, tongue, and lips touched left a tingling sensation, like the ghost of a touch. As his lips slowly got closer to their prize, she inhaled a sharp breath, her hands fisting in the sheets, body buzzing with excitement. However, the warmth of his breath was shortly removed as he curled his fingers around her La Perlas and slowly pulled them off her body. Again, her eyes opened, peeking at him as he once again situated himself between her legs. It was only a short time before his fingers were slowly dragging against her exposed womanhood, getting coated in her juices. A loud, involuntary moan, slipped past her pink lips, and her brows furrowed in concentration.

Chuck had to bite his own lip to hold back a hiss of appreciation when he found the wetness pooling there. "So wet," he commented, his voice deathly soft. His now slippery fingers moved a little higher, coming into contact with the small, swelling bundle of nerves. He circled it with a barely there touch, a knowing smirk pulling at his mouth. He licked his lips then. "Try not to break the glass when you scream." It was a taunt and a warning all rolled into one, topped off with just the hint of a threat - because he would have her screaming for him. The mental audio tape he played for himself was growing old, and he craved a new version. He removed his hands and slid him under her then, angling her slightly before his mouth descended, his brow furrowing when a grumble reverberated in his mouth when he pressed his lips against her wet folds.

Eyes now wide, she bucked her hips against his mouth, "Chuck!" She groaned as soon as his tongue began thrusting inside her tight channel, one hand venturing south to tangle in his hair and ensure that he didn't go anywhere. She tried to still her hips, but it was a hard task, especially when she had Chuck _fucking_ Bass eating her out.

"You taste fucking good," he got out between alternating licking and kissing, and thrusting. One of his hands moved from under her and he carefully inserted two of his fingers, lifting his head ever so slightly so he could _see_ how she was reacting. Each new little lick or kiss produced a throaty moan, or soft whimper from Blair, getting increasingly louder. There was a light sheen of sweat forming on her skin, giving it a dewy look, his hands slightly slippery against her flesh. Her head was thrown back against the satin sheets, hair fanned out and tangled, a few stray tendrils clinging to her skin. Her mouth formed a perfect 'o', and there was a look of pure unadulterated lust on her face as she moaned—louder this time. "Don't you _dare_ stop," she hissed, her voice soft and sensual yet demanding, fingers still tightly gripping his brown hair.

He laughed, the sound coming from deep within his chest, and there was a dark edge too it. Blair clenched her teeth in response, vibrations echoing through her core. "Trust me, Princess," he husked. "I would never _dream_ of stopping before you got to give the grand finale." Slowly, he bent to let his tongue circle the pink bundle of nerves that was probably begging for attention. He flicked at it once, twice, then a third time. "Just remember what I said about the glass," he instructed her like the smug ass he was before he opened his mouth and drew the bundle into his mouth completely, sucking on it and running his tongue over it with a grunt. He could feel how close she was - having experienced enough orgasms from Blair, he knew that it wouldn't be long until she came, and he found himself strangely impatient. Because the sight had haunted his dreams for a very long time, and now that it was close to happening again, the drive he had to hear it was considerable. His teeth grazed like a feather against the bud when he readjusted his mouth, and his tongue began to flick against it while he sucked it into his mouth.

"C'mon, Blair," he groaned against her, the words muffled due to the fact that he was unwilling to cease his actions for long enough to get them out clearly. "Come for me. Let me," he grunted sharply, momentarily releasing her clit so he could lick over her slit and around his fingers. "I want you to come for me. _Come _for me…" he rasped the demand, as if it were something she could be persuaded into. "Come for me… and then I'll fuck you like you deserve." He hissed the words deliciously, curling his fingers up again.

Almost instantly, Blair's body arched off the bed, taut as a bow, her eyes stamped shut as bright lights exploded behind the closed lids. A scream tore from her lips, his name echoing in the large penthouse, hands keeping him pressed against her as she rode out the waves of her orgasm—inner walls clenching tightly around his fingers as she simultaneously melted around him, her nectar spilling around his fingers and against his mouth and chin.

However, even as Chuck felt her walls clamping and fluttering around his fingers, which now slid smoothly in and out of her tight entrance, he kept curling and thrusting. During and just after her peak she would be almost unbearably sensitive, and so with a sinister glint in his otherwise coal black eyes, he decided that he would make the most of that for his own pleasure. Warm juices now coated his fingers thickly and he slowly withdrew them, sliding the digits into his mouth and sucking before lowering his mouth to her entrance and licking the excess greedily. There was so much, so much from just one orgasm. Pleased with his work, he licked once, twice, three times more along her slit, each one longer and slower than the last one. He pulled the pink bud into his mouth ever so gently, much gentler than his urgent, gluttonous sucking from before, swathing it with his tongue and watching her with his eyes.

Slowly, he let it go, and Blair gradually came down, muscles loosening as she was once again reduced to a puddle of goo, her body slightly quaking in aftershocks. Chuck pulled his other hand out from beneath her and letting it run over her thigh, lightly massaging the firm, soft flesh. By now the sheen of sweat had gotten thicker, and there was a deep flush that brushed across her whole body. Her chest rose and fell heavily, her breathing attempting to return back to normal as she pushed herself up onto her hands so she was sitting up completely, a dumbfounded look on her face, "What did you do to me, Bass?" she asked, her voice having been shot from the scream that previously ripped through her, a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips.

An arrogant grin spread over his expression, his eyes still dangerously dark and mimicking that of a predator watching his prey. "That, Waldorf," he began, each word slow and drawn out. "is what I believe they call an unprecedented, mountain-moving, earth-shattering _orgasm_. If you ever need an example of one again, I'll be happy to provide." The grin fell away from his face and he leaned in, kissing her cheek, jaw, and under her ear. "I want you, Blair," he whispered into her ear, his voice gruff. "I can't wait anymore. You have no idea how hard you've got me. Hearing you scream for me," he nipped at her skin before licking at the area, "was incredible."

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><p><strong>AN: More smut coming up next! Did you like it? Review! (I swear it makes us work faster...)**


	8. The Sweetest Torture Pt2

**A/N: Apologies for the long wait for the update! I swear, after this smut there is plot...somewhere. ;) **

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><p>Blair watched as Chuck slowly leaned in and laid soft kisses against her cheek and jaw. His breath was hot against her already steaming skin—his lips (still glistening with her juices) made her softly shudder as he attacked <em>those<em> spots. However, she soon interrupted him, grabbing the back of his head and forcefully pulling it away from her neck, so her lips could connect with his in a fiery kiss. Without breaking their connection, Blair nudged him into a standing position, following suit. Once they were both on their feet (though she was having a hard time standing—not because of her ankle, but because of her previous climax), Blair turned them around and pushed Chuck back onto the bed, his body rebounding on the soft mattress.

There was a mischievous glint in her eyes as she reached forward, dainty hands gripping the sides of his boxers and pulling them down his body. Licking her lips, she climbed onto the bed, crawling slowly up his body. She stopped short though, teasing his erect manhood with her tongue—gently sticking out to run across the tiny slit and taste the small amount of dew that gathered there, then running down to the base and back up.

Chuck's nostrils flared with the effort to hold back and his one hand curled into a fist on top of her bed. It was taking everything he had not to thread his fingers through her hair and keep her there until she licked, sucked, and kissed him into exploding into her mouth. But right now, he wanted to be in her, and if she so much as breathed on him the wrong way he would be releasing all over her lips and he wouldn't even have the energy to feel sorry for it.

Blair would have usually continued, but he seemed to be in enough pain as it is, and she was in an especially selfish mood. She wanted him inside of her, and she wanted him now. Slowly, she planted wet, open-mouthed kisses up his body, tongue darting out momentarily to circle each round nipple. Finally she reached his mouth, her hands supporting her weight on either side of his head, "Mm, Chuck Bass, you are _amazing_." She slowly lowered her hips, her wet center rubbing along the top of his length teasingly, her lips traveling down his jaw to just under his ear, "You ready?" she mumbled against his skin, a shudder reverberating through her body.

He couldn't choke out anything when she spoke initially, the heat and wetness of her teasing him too much. Automatically, he thrust up, his manhood seeking union with her, demanding he slide home, that he bury himself as deep as possible and never come out. "Yes," he finally hissed. "Yes, Blair, just… yes," he groaned lightly, hips moving impatiently up again.

A smirk pulled on her lips when she felt his hips pushing up against hers, seeking relief, and she filled with womanly pride—she really could make him suffer if she wanted to, and that's why she liked being in control. However, he was in luck, because at the moment she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. His response was all the approval she needed before she slowly lowered over him, taking him in inch by inch until he was fully sheathed inside of her. Blair hissed against him, her face still buried in the crook of his neck. She kept her hips as still as possible for two reasons—one was that she had to adjust to his size, and two was that she was scared that if she moved, it would be all over before it even started. "So big," she mumbled in a throaty tone, her voice muffled. Her whole body seemed to be on fire, but there was a sense of relief. This is where they belonged, together; it just felt so…_fucking good_.

A smirk tugged at his lips when he heard (felt) her comment mumbled against his skin. "And you take all of it, don't you?" he groaned.

After a few moments she slowly started to move her hips, sitting up and pulling him with her. It wasn't any effort to lift his body when her hands demanded it of him - he was running on desire now, the desire to be as close to her as he could possibly get, and the brief rush of cool air against his chest when she'd initially lifted away from him hadn't sat well with the impatient man. Her breasts were now pressed firmly against his chest, her lips and tongue devouring his own. She couldn't get enough. Her hips rose and fell at a steady pace, a soft whimper emitting from her throat every time she sunk down on his length. Every time she lowered herself down onto him, he would subtly thrust up, pushing himself just a little bit deeper inside of her.

Blair tried angling her hips, until finally he hit the sweet spot and she groaned loudly, eyes falling shut. Her hands, however, seemed to be roaming aimlessly over every patch of bare flesh she could touch. She needed to be closer, closer—god, _so close_. It was just like this every time. It never got boring, or like the same pattern. Each time was like their first, different, exciting, and most of all—_satisfying_.

Her hips bucked harder against his, she couldn't get enough, always needed more, more, _more_. "Tell me you're mine," she demanded hotly against his ear, a moan following shortly after. _I'm yours, I'm yours, _all_ yours. Always._

Her order caught Chuck slightly off-guard, he had to admit it, and it was enough to break him from his reverie. Say he was hers. How many times had he fought that? How many times had he run? Even now he should probably hold out, make her work for it, get something from her before he gave in to her demand. But… "I'm _yours,_" he grunted hard against her skin, catching her jaw with a haphazard kiss. "I'm yours," he repeated, breathless, fingers untangling themselves from her hair and tracing down her shoulders, her back, onto her thigh and then her stomach. "And you," sure pads pressed into her clit, rolling the little swollen bud. "_You_ are mine." It wasn't a question, it wasn't even a request to ask her to say the words. Because she _was_ his.

"Yes," she affirmed breathlessly, "Yours, all yours." Her hands, which had been busy roaming his exposed flesh, now found purchase on his shoulders, her nails biting into his skin as she rode him for all he was worth.

"No one else touches you like this," he said against her skin. "No one else gets you so hot and _wet_," he spoke the words as if he were savoring a treat, and perhaps he was. "I'm the only one who gets to see you with your hair down. The only one you ask to _fuck_ you," he hissed, "until your voice is raw."

She nodded furiously, agreeing with everything he was saying, her eyes screwed shut, passion riddled on her face. "_Only you_," she murmured, her voice dripping with pleasure and passion, "Only you can do this to me, Chuck." His name was more of a moan than anything else, hitting her in that sweet spot, her walls tightening around him.

The rhythm of his accompanying thrusts was slightly off now - just a bit erratic, hard, then shallow, then deeper, then soft, unable to retain consistency, and small beads of sweat were rolling their way down his back and onto the line of his spine. "I want you to say who you belong to-" his breath hitched and he swallowed hard. "when you come. I want you to say it so that everyone knows," a flash of lightening shot through the sky in accompaniment of the long groan that he found impossible to hold back, "so that," he panted, "everyone knows who _does this _to you." And then his mouth opened against her shoulder and his teeth were on her skin, not in a violent way but in a primal way that demanded that she bear visual evidence of this encounter, that he taste her softness in his mouth.

Blair almost immediately convulsed around him, her back arching—breasts pushing against his chest, head thrown back, brown hair cascading down and tickling her lower back. His name rang out again, just as he'd requested, only something told her it was louder this time, if even possible. Blair was clutching onto Chuck for dear life, lights exploding behind her eyes, her inner walls milking him. As if to match the moment, thunder boomed loudly overhead, shaking the penthouse.

"That's it, lover," he panted, "That's my beautiful girl." He took satisfaction in the way her nails continued to dig into his shoulders. Fair was fair, and he knew that he'd have little red welts from where they had bit into his shoulders. He didn't mind, though; it was odd, since once-upon-a-time-ago he would have _loathed _being marked by any woman and thrown her from his room with a snarl and a warning. Back then, though, he'd have tried his damnedest to avoid setting foot in another woman's place, and yet here he was, on top of her bed, covered in her. When she marked him, he wanted it, wanted a memento of their time together. And when she marked him, it meant that the perfect society girl was choosing to lose control all over _him._

The next few seconds seemed to be an impossibly loaded jumbled mess. There was a sharp sound when his hand met her ass again, pulling her formerly rocking hips down onto his length to meet a last hard thrust. He could feel her still riding the last waves of her climax, still so wonderfully tight and dripping wet around him. Blinding white pleasure seemed to stem straight from the center of his body and flood out to the tips of his toes and fingers. His eyes were on her, but his vision blurred while he was pulled under, the sensation of his climax too much for him. A strangled noise sounded in his throat and his teeth gnashed together before…. "Fuck! _Blair!_" He shouted her name, voice hoarse. He spurted hot ropes of his seed deep inside of her and he grunted hard, fingers still digging hard into her skin. He didn't know how long it lasted, but the stimulation he got was enough to last him a lifetime.

Her hands tenderly skimmed up to frame his face, her lips peppering kisses against his clenched jaw, tongue darting out to taste the salt on his skin—a taste she was already very familiar with. Then they were lowering, down, down until Chuck was flat on his back, and Blair was on top of him. He pushed her hair behind her ear and drew her in for a searing kiss, trying to tell her everything that he wanted to but couldn't voice. How much he'd missed her - not the sex, necessarily, but her. How much he loved her…. When it was over, Blair haphazardly buried her head in the crook of his neck, her lips leaving lax kisses there.

"Good to know you still have it in you." While the remark could have been flippant, whatever edge it might have been perceived to have was taken away by the softness of Chuck's voice.

Blair let out a weak laugh at his words, her nose nuzzling against the bottom of his jaw, her hand raking through his tousled hair, "Blair Waldorf doesn't let anything get in the way of what she wants." She muttered, nipping at his skin.

"The word 'no' never was in your vocabulary," he agreed. "That's why we work together," he added in a faint mutter, eyes falling shut.

They opened again, briefly, when the thunder ripped angrily through the sky, rain beating down against the pavement outside in earnest. Momentarily, he allowed himself to wonder how much different his night could have been. He'd probably be nursing a glass of scotch and staring out onto Columbus Avenue while observing the storm from his penthouse. And, if her accident hadn't happened, probably plotting his next move to make her squirm. He held her tighter for a fraction of a second, resentment for himself sweeping through him. He much preferred the way he'd made her squirm tonight, and the sounds she'd made, the _screams_ she'd given him… they would make a much better audiotape for his mind than any shrieks of outrage she sent his way. If he had to endure this ugly, brutal night, he'd rather do it right here in Blair Waldorf's bed with her lounging over him, their skin clinging together, than alone in his castle of steel and bricks.

Gently he managed to lift his leaden arm to sweep her hair away from her shoulder and let his hand fall there, thumb falling on his mark and rubbing circles over it. In retrospect she probably didn't need any more marks on her, but he couldn't bring himself to regret the act. It was as he said - he was the only one allowed to leave a mark on her, no one else. His lips twitched into half a smirk for a half a second before it fell and his eyes began to drop closed. Whatever he had to do to keep her, he would do it, and it was with that that he finally slept, wild plans and grand schemes to keep her in his grasp unwinding in his dreams, the storm in his heart finally quieting.

Blair's body, too, was comfortably numb, eyelids heavy as she fell into a deep slumber, wrapped up in the arms of her lover. Her injuries went unnoticed; there was no pain, no discomfort. She had fallen asleep listening to the drumming of Chuck's heart, memorizing his breaths as his chest rose and fell. She still didn't know what would happen in the morning, but all she cared about was the fact that Chuck wasn't going to be leaving her again—not if she could help it. Then again, she had this deep feeling that he didn't want to, and that, though it would be hard, he felt the same need to be connected as she did. Gossip Girl and her Manhattan followers be damned. If Chuck and Blair (Blair and Chuck) were happy, then it didn't matter. Together they were invincible, and they wouldn't back down. Might as well give them a challenge.

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><p>Blair slept soundly through the night, minus one particularly loud boom of thunder which awoke her, and during the time which she was awake she managed to pull her fluffy comforter over their completely exposed bodies. The sun started streaming in through her windows around eight in the morning, and Blair still lay happily asleep at Chuck's side. It wasn't until her blonde roommate (and best friend) arrived at the penthouse that Blair awoke. She wasn't sure if it was the ding of the elevators, or the fact that Serena's bubbly laugh was ringing throughout the place (presumably speaking on her cell phone) woke her up, but she was glad it did. Quickly, Blair jumped out of bed and limped across the room, throwing on her purple robe and tying the sash tightly. She then threw her comforter over Chuck's head (hoping he didn't wake up), kicked their clothes which were strewn about the room under her bed (with her good foot), grabbed her crutches, and exited her room to meet Serena at the top of the stairs.<p>

"Blair," Serena greeted awkwardly, slipping her phone back into her designer bag, glancing over her shoulder to the bedroom door which the brunette had shut hastily.

"Hey S, I thought you were at Colin's? Or...did he throw you in a cab?" She raised a curious eyebrow at her friend, who gave her an incredulous look and shook her head.

"I was, but I left early so he _couldn't_ put me in a cab and so I could change clothes before class." She took in her friend's appearance slowly, the tousled hair, haphazardly thrown on robe, and slightly flushed face.

"Everything alright, B?" she asked slowly, a smirk pulling at her lips.

"What? Yes, everything is fine." Blair realized her friend was looking at her hair, which was usually perfectly groomed, but at the moment wild and tousled. Blair ran a hand through her hair to smooth it out (while still trying to keep her crutch tucked under her arm), her robe exposing more of her neck and shoulder.

"Are you sure? 'Cuz, y'know, there's a bite mark on your shoulder." Blair looked down at the mark, silently cursing Chuck, before raising her eyes back to Serena, a mean look on her face.

"That's not a bite mark, S, it's just a...bruise...from the accident." She said rudely, as if her friend had been accusing her of something awful. Serena raised an eyebrow slowly, and gave her an un-amused look.

"Right. Well, if you'd excuse me, I actually want to be on time today. When I get back, we're talking."

Blair gave her friend a phony smile, before turning and going back into her room, setting down the crutches, and slipping back into the bed.

When the bed sank down next to Chuck under her weight, Chuck threw the covers away from his face, the room instantly ten degrees cooler. "The next time you want to get rid of me, Waldorf, all you have to do is ask," he closed the distance between them and looped his arm around her waist, his still sleep-laden eyes peering at her in a half-strength version of his usual surveillance. "Leaving me to suffocate in your bed gives you the difficult problem of how to dispose of the body. I don't think Nate would be happy to lend his services - I do like to think that after all our years of friendship, he'd be a little upset that you killed me," he smirked, closing the distance between his mouth and her ear. "And I don't like waking up in an empty bed," he whispered against her.

"Trust me, Bass," she said slowly, playfully, "If I _wanted_ you anywhere but naked, next to me in bed, you'd be there." She sidled up closer to him, his breath hot against her ear. She held back a whimper as his teeth grasped her earlobe, mind reeling with images of the night before, how his teeth had nipped and grazed so many parts of her body, making her want to explode. She chuckled, however, swatting him slightly on the arm. "Don't be such a baby, I was gone for like two seconds." She countered, dimples prominent in her still glowing cheeks as she beamed at Chuck—hair messy, eyes tired. His hand was moving then, gently grazing over her injured ribs.

"How do you feel today?" he asked, an appropriate amount of concern coating his inquiry.

"Better," she noted, noticing how there wasn't a pinch when she took a deep breath, "After last night? Amazing." She added, her uninjured foot slipping down to gently caress his leg, her hand reaching up to smooth his hair out before leaning forward and placing a slow, chaste (though nothing was really "chaste" between the two of them) kiss against his lips, a soft "Good morning" lingering in the air. It wasn't until now that Blair became faintly aware of a muffled buzzing sound reverberating in the room.

_Tyler. _Part of Chuck demanded that he find the device instantly to hear whatever news he had to tell, but the other part, the part that was winning, said he could wait until after he and Blair had properly said good morning and he'd at least gotten an answer from her.

Blair, however, pretended like she didn't hear it. It was more than likely some stupid business call that could wait, and quite frankly, Blair was happy right where she was. She could slightly hear Serena shuffling around in the other room, then entering the bathroom that joined their two bedrooms. Blair tensed slightly, not wanting Serena to come bursting in through the door to find them, then yelling at Blair for lying, and no doubt Chuck for being, well, _Chuck_. However, all she heard was the sink water running before the blonde was back in her own room.

Turning her full attention back to Chuck, Blair slowly grazed her hand back from his hair down to his neck, then further to his chest—fingers idly playing with the patch of hair there. "Are you hungry?" she asked nonchalantly, an airy feel to her voice, "I was thinking breakfast in bed."

"I'm actually _very_ hungry." His eyes fell shut when she kissed the spot on his collarbone, his skin tingling in answer. "And breakfast in bed sounds lovely. But I'm afraid we have a problem." He spoke as if it were the gravest one of all. "I'm not hungry for food," he whispered sensually, dropping a kiss onto her mouth once more.

"You never learned how to behave yourself, did you Bass?" She asked after pulling back from his lips, though they both already knew the answer to that question.

His hand easily traveled from her hip to her thigh when she hooked her leg over his own hip, holding her firmly against him and his growing arousal. "You never liked it when I behaved, Waldorf," he quipped back immediately, voice deep. "Far be it from me to make my Queen unhappy." He kissed her chin, cheek, jaw, ear, any spot he could reach to try to soften her up so he could get his way.

There was a thud in the next room, though, and a shriek from Serena, the golden-haired one evidently having dropped something. He groaned in frustration and let his head hang momentarily - she was always breaking up the moment, _always._

"Blair!" Serena shouted from her room, another small clatter being heard, "Can I borrow your laptop? Mine fell off the bed and won't turn on!" Her voice was pleading, and Blair couldn't help the loud groan of annoyance that slipped passed her lips. Chuck growled, letting a stream of colorful, descriptive swears flow from between his lips, all directed towards the blonde he couldn't see.

"Sorry S, I'm…writing a paper!" she lied, the words slipping from her lips almost without faltering. She heard her friend sigh, her heels clicking as she neared the door. Once again Blair tensed, but luckily Serena didn't barge in.

Instead, she stood outside her friend's door, and spoke loudly, "Can I come in?"

Blair rolled her eyes and answered, "No! I'm naked!" she screeched, panic setting into her tone.

"I don't have time to play games, Blair, I'm going to be late again."

Sniggering at the door, Blair responded, "Well then get going and stop arguing!" She heard the retreating footsteps of Serena, a sigh of relief pouring from her lips as she buried her face in the crook of Chuck's neck. There were too many stupid distractions. She wanted to not have to worry about being caught, especially when inside her own penthouse. This brought up another thought for Blair; Dorota. Her loyal maid would no doubt be stopping by soon, and Blair knew that she'd have a fit if she found Chuck in bed with Blair. And Dorota was more persistent that Serena, a simply "go away" wouldn't suffice.

"Why don't you come home with me?" Chuck suggested, softly massaging her leg in an attempt to help persuade her. "I have a few things to take care of, but other than that I will be _entirely_ at your disposal without my dear stepsister getting in our hair."

Her hand swiftly wandered down his back, fingers gently slipping over some red welts she'd given him the night before, "Hmm…Chuck Bass' penthouse suite," she started, his slow massaging of her thigh soothing and relaxing her, "If I say yes, I want a new bottle of my vintage Dom, since _you_," she poked his chest, "Took the last of it!"

He grinned unapologetically at her when her pointer finger jabbed his chest accusingly. Quick as lightening his hand encircled her wrist when its path took her slender digits from his back to his chest, picking up her hand and bringing it to his mouth, kissing each soft pad of skin with gentle pressure before doing to the inside of her wrist. "And what delicious champagne it was," he retorted instantly. "But if that's what it's going to take to get you to step foot in my penthouse, then you can have _twenty _bottles of Dom, whether it drains my bank account or not."

She smiled sweetly, her hand wandering from his back to his front, "And while I'm making demands, I expect you to keep to your word—any second that you're not in a business meeting, you're in the penthouse, with me…and I get to _do_ you _anywhere_ I want to." She leaned forward and gently nipped at his jaw, tongue darting out to taste his flesh. If she was going to be spending the day at his penthouse, she didn't want to get bored.

"I swear to you," he rasped. "That any minute where I am not required to be the model figure for an entrepreneur, I will be at your feet and willing to _take you_ on any surface you deem fit."

His heated words had a wave of lust coursing through her, images of Chuck pounding into her wet center while she clutched the sides of his pool table flashing across her mind, a mischievous smirk tugging on her lips right before he leaned in, capturing them in a deep kiss that held so much promise for later.

"I'm going to call Arthur," he said when it was broken. "I want you to go down first when he gets here and wait for me in the car. I'll be down five minutes after you are." It was a plan similar to that which they employed during the days when their affair was filthy, loathed to be discovered by Nate or anyone else. Because he was Chuck Bass, and she was Blair Waldorf, and they could never, Iever/i be. How far away those times seemed now. Any trace of humor or lightheartedness vanished from his face when he addressed her next. He hesitated briefly, as if trying to decide how great the risk of her getting annoyed with him was, before he deemed it worth it. "Don't…" he paused before barreling through. "Don't get in the car if it's not Arthur," he told her quietly, despising the way his stomach curled and twisted unpleasantly. Blair wasn't sure whether to feel protected or insulted.

He spared her a tight smile then, chucking her under the chin lightly. "I don't want you getting anymore bruises on your body that I don't put there while I am making you_ convulse_ in ecstasy," he whispered.

With that he was (reluctantly) rolling away from her and searching the room for his clothes while she threatened him ("Careful Chuck, next time I just might leave a few more visible marks on you"). The edge of his pant leg peeking out from beneath her bed alerted him to their whereabouts and he bent to retrieve the garments, shaking them out. One by one he donned each article again, finally digging into his pocket to withdraw his blackberry.

Just as he thought, there was one missed call (and a voicemail) from Andrew Tyler, as well as a text message from an unknown number. He ignored both of them for the time being, quickly pressing the '2' on his speed dial. "Arthur," he greeted his chauffeur. "I need you to bring the car to Ms. Waldorf's penthouse as quickly as possible. For nostalgia's sake we're going to be reenacting our youth, so once she's come down to you wait until I arrive," he said dryly. Seconds later the call was ended and he glanced over his shoulder at her. "I'll just be a moment," he informed her smoothly before stepping into the bathroom between her and Serena's room. Once the door was shut behind him he locked it swiftly and did the same with Serena's before dialing his voicemail.

_"Mr. Bass, it's Andrew Tyler,"_ a booming voice crackled through his phone. _"I've got some information on that driver for Ms. Waldorf. Turns out he decided to skip town after he left the scene, and the last reports have him in Toronto, heading North. He's probably going to try to hop a plane to London and then to the mainland. Once he's in Europe, it'll be harder to find him. Call me back to discuss how you want to proceed."_ The message ended and he raked a hand through his hair in frustration. Damn it… he was beginning to feel more and more like a caged animal, like his options were running out and he had no other choice but to strike. He opened the text message on his phone next and his heart instantly seized while his stomach lurched.

**tick-tock bass or your beauty will be sleeping forever.**

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><p><strong>AN: I bet you're dying to know who's blackmailing Chuck and Blair. I'll give you a hint...it isn't who you think it is. (I know, great hint). You're going to have to wait to find out! It won't be for awhile, however, so stay tuned! **


	9. Freudian Slip?

**A/N: I'm sorry to say that there is no pool table sex in this chapter. But, I think you'll find that this makes up for it. Enjoy.**

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><p>By the time Chuck had left the bathroom, Blair had already gotten all her things shoved in her Prada bag, and had the crutches situated under her arms. "Ready!" She affirmed, hopping over to him and laying a quick kiss on his lips, "See you in five," she mused before turning, and hopping in the other direction.<p>

As Blair hopped away, his eyes fell to the curve of her backside, watching her with appreciation. Granted, the customary sway that her hips usually had when she walked (the one that made him want to walk up behind her and slide into her tightness from behind so that he might be able to appreciate the supple flesh as they took each other higher to completion) was absent due to her crutches, but the view was still extraordinary, nevertheless. When she finally disappeared from view and the soft thuds of her crutches faded into the distance he took out his phone and jabbed his thumb into a button. "Chuck Bass," he said into the phone, pacing over to her fireplace and surveying the framed photos that she had assembled into a tasteful arrangement. "I'm calling about the message you left - meet me at my place in the Empire in two hours, we'll discuss where we go from there. Anything new?" He nodded grimly while Tyler relayed information to him - that is to say, while no information was relayed to him since no leads on the driver or the phone message were discovered. "Keep me informed, I'll see you shortly." He ended the call and pocketed his phone, buttoning his jacket as he walked out of her bedroom. A short jog down the steps and an elevator ride later, and he was stepping out onto the street, heading directly for his limo.

The limo ride was uneventful, and Blair realized she was starting to get better at handling her crutches and purse, as well as getting in and out of cars. Once they reached his penthouse (separately, Blair getting out first), which was seemingly spotless, she collapsed on Chuck's red couch, cursing the crutches and allowing them to clatter to the ground. "Those things are torture devices!" She whined, watching Chuck entering from the corner of her eye.

He grinned smartly at her as he strolled over to the couch. "Correct me if I'm wrong," (translation: I remember this happening and no amount of protest will make it untrue). "But I believe someone offered to get you a wheel chair," he continued innocently while he sat down, opening the newspaper he'd picked up on the way in and skimming the report on how stocks had closed the day before.

Blair glared, "Need I remind you again," she practically hissed, "I'm _Blair Waldorf_, and as queen, I choose not to be pitied. A wheelchair would automatically put me in the free pass group along with pregnant ladies, and old people who cart around oxygen tanks. While _some_ people would give up their seats to them out of _pity_, they'd give it to me out of _fear_ and _respect_." She stated triumphantly, eyes quickly scanning the page he was reading in the paper, turning away when a memories of their past relationship sparked inside her.

Chuck stayed silent during her tirade, appreciating the way her eyes seemed to glow and her voice crackled through the air as if he'd just committed the utmost offense. She was always incredibly arousing when her temper got going (this may or may not have caused him to purposefully goad her, just so that he could watch the way her eyes would blaze and hear her voice go shrill). He bit his tongue, however, when he was struck by the urge to say that _technically_ even crutches would cause people to give up their seats for her and step aside, and that _technically_ she never used any form of transportation that required that she need a seat. It wasn't like she ever took the subway - he nearly shuddered at the thought, lips curling in disgust at the simple idea. Outrageous. "It's only for a little while more," he said then.

Blair leaned back into the red cushions and studied her nails absently, "I suppose."

"Do you have an appointment to get it looked at?" he asked. He closed his newspaper after a moment and threw it onto the table in front of him.

"Yes, I have an appointment with Dr. Paranoid-Asshole. He said it wouldn't take too long to heal, _thank god_, but more than two days without my Louboutins or Manolos is more than enough."

"Truthfully it's not that big of a deal. It's not like you're going to be wearing them that much anyways," his eyes slid slowly over her body. Down, down, down they went, devouring the length of her legs and the curve in her chest as he went. Finally he returned his gaze (at his leisure) to her own eyes, lips twisted smugly. "Or anything at all, really."

Blair smirked, "How long until your first meeting, Mr. Bass?" she asked, quirking a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

Chuck's lips twitched with amusement at the arrangement of her inquiry. "Not for a few hours, Ms. Waldorf," he said his tongue stroking the words warmly. "I thought I'd work from home today - cuts down on the travel time and increases the amount of time I'm filling your every whim," he leered suggestively at her. "You can wait in my bedroom while they're going on." Half a beat, and then. "If you'd like. You know I'd use any excuse to keep you between my sheets. Clothes optional."

"Don't worry, Mr. Bass, I'll make sure that you are properly…_relaxed_ between meetings. We don't want you getting too stressed from all the hard work, do we?"

He grinned at the tone of her words, letting his hand go to her knee, encircling it warmly with his palm. "I knew you'd see it my way," he murmured. "It's important that I get a _lift_," he let the word linger with its implication hanging heavy in the air "throughout the day to maintain my spirits. I think you're just the woman to give it to me." Chuck smirked affectionately, then, and leaned in to steal a kiss. "Do you want something for breakfast?" he asked, his lips a hairsbreadth away from hers.

"You," Blair muttered in response, lips attacking his in a fierce kiss, head slanting slightly so she could open her mouth and gain better access to his own, he groaned into her mouth, readily having opened his and allowing her tongue to do a greedy battle with his, brow furrowing in distaste when she pulled back.

"And maybe a few croissants?" She added, smirking, before she trailed kisses across his jaw until she reached right under his ear.

"Croissants…" he agreed, his arm sliding around her waist as she kissed along the sharp edge of his jaw. "Perhaps some fruit," he suggested. "And some whipped cream," his voice dropped and his eyes glinted. He leaned over her momentarily to grab the phone that was by the couch and speedily dialed the front desk with sure fingers. "Victor, send a plate of croissants and fresh berries up to the penthouse. Along with some whipped cream." He hung up the phone and tossed it onto the free end of the couch before turning back to her. "Where were we?" he asked, voice raspy while his hand was running circles along the inside of her thigh.

Blair pulled back from his neck at his question, a wicked smile on her lips. "Right about…" Her hand uncoiled from his coat lapel (which she'd gripped somewhere between their kisses), and slowly, slowly descended over his dress shirt to the crotch of his suit pants, her hand ever-so-lightly grazing over him, "here." With that she leaned forward again and her lips continued their attack, this time gently biting and sucking in an attempt to leave a mark. A mark that claimed him as her own. _I hope he still has that scarf_, she mused silently, her lips traveling back up to his ear as her hand slowly caressed him through his pants.

He moaned, very quietly, in the back of his throat, eyes barely open and fingers holding tight to her leg. He was_dying_ to push his hand farther up and to shove his fingers past any La Perlas that stood in his way. It would be fair, given the way her hand was on his front, teasing him through the fabric whether she meant to or not. It would serve her… serve her…. "Blair," he muttered under his breath, voice faint as her fingers continued to stroke him. He could feel the blood rushing and his length rising to meet her touches, seeking some more relief no matter how hard he tried to keep himself in check. His hips rocked up again, a little harder this time, and he was torn between gripping her wrist and tearing her hand away and taking her hand and shoving it inside his pants (_touch me, please_ his entire body seemed to say).

As such, he was immobilized and completely at her mercy. Vaguely, somewhere, he heard the heavy, clunking sound of doors rolling back, followed by the sound of a cart being pushed along the floor. He nearly bit his tongue off in frustration, finally grasping her wrist with strong fingers and edging away from her only slightly (hotel staff probably fell under the category of people they didn't want seeing them together, although Chuck would certainly fire and ruin anyone who dared breathe a word of his private life - _especially_ his private life with Blair. That was completely off limits). He shot her a look that could be described as nothing less than _hungry_, his message clear. _You owe me for that. And we will finish what we started._

"Thank you," he said, the timbre of his voice surprisingly solid given the wreck he was feeling like on the inside. "Please hold all visitors in the lobby until calling up to inform me they're here," he instructed, receiving a nod and an, "Of course, sir," before the elevator was descending back to the first floor.

Blair stood and limped over to the cart, picking up a strawberry that looked delectable. She dipped it in the bowl of freshly whipped cream next to it, her tongue darting out to lick off the sticky white substance before wrapping her lips around the red berry and biting into the fruit, a small droplet of juice clinging to her lip before her tongue greedily snatched it up.

Turning, she shot a look at Chuck, and innocently asked, "Aren't you hungry?"

His throat worked and his Adam's apple bob when she spoke and he met her eyes straight on for his answer. "Absolutely famished," he said quietly, and it was clear his answer had nothing to do with food.

Blair placed the end of the berry down off to the side on the cart, before picking up the plate of berries and croissants, and the bowl of whipped cream, walking over to the coffee table in front of Chuck and placing them there. She began to slide by him to get back to her spot next, carefully stepping so she was sure not to trip, her finger dipping into the whipped cream as she went, turning to face him. She smiled, an idea sparking in her mind, her knee (on the leg of her sprained ankle) lifting to place on the outside of Chuck's legs, her finger simultaneously slipping deep into her mouth, ever-so-slowly pulling it out—licked clean of all the cream that used to be there.

Never, in his entire life, had he so badly wanted to be a finger. _That_ finger. Sharp images of her on her knees before him, his length disappearing into her mouth while his hands tangled helplessly in her hair filled his mind, accompanied by the little sounds of enjoyment she used to make.

"Mm," she commented slyly, gauging his reaction.

His breathing was deep and extremely slow now, each one taking a toll on him it seemed. But when that light sound left her mouth…. "You really shouldn't start things like this, Blair," he said with a dangerously soft voice. one that could make the most dastardly of deeds sound seductive and leave a girl weak in the knees. "One should know the limits of their actions." His hands were sliding up the sides of her body now, subtly diving into the seams, searching… until he found the side-zipper for her dress. "And if you wanted something with cream in your mouth," there was a quick sliding sound when he tugged the zipper down. "All you had to do was ask," he whispered deeply. He pushed her away gently then. "Take off your dress for me," he commanded, authority ringing in his voice. "And give me the whipped cream," he added, deftly unbuckling his belt, pulling it out of his pant loops, and tossing it to the side, instantly forgotten. it was her own fault if she wound up regretting this, he thought, unbuttoning and shaking off his jacket before it, too, was gone with the belt.

Slowly, Blair removed her knee from the couch and shrugged her shoulders, pulling the sleeves of the dress down her arms until it was finally pooling at her feet, revealing the soft pink La Perlas she'd put on only an hour or two before. Silently, she swallowed, the dark passion storming behind his hazel eyes causing her panties to become slightly damper than before. Blair turned around and bent over to pick up the bowl of whipped cream, purposefully making the task take much longer than needed (as well as bending over more than she needed to). She was determined to keep up the slow torture, she wouldn't let one look and a husky demand from Chuck crack her—they both knew it would take more than that.

_Such a cocktease,_ he thought to himself as he withheld a groan. But she was a beautiful one, that couldn't be denied. If he had to be tortured, it may as well be by a vision that was worthwhile. He wasn't letting her leave today, he decided. She was staying all day if he had to chain her to his bed, and he might not even let her leave that night. He'd take her down to a different room if Nate came home later. The blue-eyed man knew that Chuck had stayed the night in the hospital, but keeping her company while she was laid up in a hospital bed with a poorly-designed gown was entirely different from driving into her at a furious pace and making her come undone _several_ times.

Once Blair turned back around and straightened, she held the bowl out in front of her, offering it over to him. He took it and placed it next to him, before he spoke, recognition flashing in his eyes, "I thought I took care of these," he muttered (code: I thought I ripped these beyond repair a long time ago), hands finally reaching out to touch her, thumbs rubbing over the soft lace. He let his hands move behind her, his warm palms smoothing over the shape of her ass, curling his fingers slightly to drag over her skin possessively. _His_.

"I bought new ones," she spoke, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. She tried to pass it off as something nonchalant, like she hadn't bought a new pair because she remembered how much he liked them the first time.

A soft whimper escaped her lips as his fingers squeezed her soft flesh, slowly dragging around to the front and rubbing her through the flimsy La Perlas. The heat of his fingers was excruciating, she wanted them to be buried deep inside of her pumping, pumping—the thought made another wave of wetness reach the pink lace. For a moment, she gripped his shoulder, scared that she might loose her balance, but sadly for her, his hands soon disappeared, a blatant frown appearing on her lips at the loss of contact.

He reached up behind her, searching until he found the clasp of her bra, skillfully and quickly unhooking it, the cold air in the apartment hitting her and making her nipples harden. With a gentle tug it was falling down her body and he allowed himself the luxury of devouring her with his eyes, marveling in the pink color of her. Just the sight of her had his train of thought veering in a different direction. "Take them off," he husked, referencing her panties.

Blair swallowed hard, nodding at his orders. Slowly, she pushed the lacy panties down her legs, putting all of her weight on her good foot before removing them completely, throwing them carelessly to land over by all the other clothes. Instinctively, his fingers grazed her hip in support as she removed the offensive garment (offensive because it was _on_ her and he wished they could hole up forever, perpetually free to explore each other's bodies). He'd already unfastened his pants and pulled them down past his hips _just enough_ so that his erection wasn't confined anymore. "Get on top of me. Don't even think about getting me inside you until I take you," he warned, the barest resemblance of a moan lacing his words while his finger dipped into the pile of whipped cream.

One knee at a time, she climbed onto his lap, fully admiring his rigid length that seemed to pulse with need. He stayed perfectly still as she positioned herself over him, and coal black eyes were on her breasts now, lazily admiring the way her nipples jutted out into the air. "Did you know that yesterday was the first time in months I've had a taste of my favorite pie?" he asked finally, looking into her eyes again for a moment, the implication clear, any vulgarity caressed away by the sensuality of his tongue. "I could have _eaten_… forever," he continued. Another soft whimper escaped her lips as he spoke, his innuendos making her wet (more than she already was, which was practically drenching). The rosy peak of her nipple was suddenly covered in a white mess, his indulgent dollop of whipped cream starting to slide ever so slightly once he'd spread it. "But I like to have my pie with a cherry on top," he murmured, eyes blazing. He leaned forward then, his hot mouth opening before closing over the mound of cream on her breast, her flesh and the sugary delicacy muffling the sound of a groan. Blair immediately arched her back, "Chuck!" she gasped.

Despite the stickiness of his fingers, he placed his newly freed hand on her hip (she would be sticky at the end of this no matter what, so there was no point in being careful where he put his hands). The other ghosted between her legs and he closed his teeth lightly against the flesh in his mouth while his tongue laved her pebbled nipple with attention. Slowly he stroked her, marveling at how slick she was already under his fingers. Up and down her entrance he went while his mouth continued its work (and play - he'd _missed_ spending quality time with _all _of her). "Hold onto me, Princess," he growled, the true depths of the wild, frenzied lust he was feeling (it was her _fault_ for teasing him!) finally bleeding into his speech. "I don't want you to fall backwards and break the table when you _come_." He hissed the last word against her skin, two of his fingers sliding right inside of her, as his teeth closed around her other nipple, the taste of her skin evident under the remnants of sugar and cream on his tongue.

Blair's hand grasped the back of his head, her other firmly gripping his shoulder at his little hint of… _advice_. "Oh god, _Chuck_," she whimpered, fingers curling around his shoulder and hair simultaneously, holding on for dear life. Slowly, her hand slipped down his chest to grip his hard-on lightly, eyes flickering open. He'd told her not to fuck him until he said so, but he didn't say anything about returning the favor. Slightly positioning herself a little further back, she pumped her hand a few times-up and down, up and down. His own fingers curled harshly into her hip and he panted, his jaw straining. Her hand… so warm, so sure, so soft, so many things, it felt so _damn good._ That little minx - he should have known she'd find a way around his demand, a way to drive him as insane as he was obviously making her (if his drenched fingers were any evidence).

Her hips moved against his fingers, urging him to that sweet spot she knew he knew the exact location of. Her head descended, lips molding with his own for a fierce kiss before venturing along his jaw to his ear, her breath hot against his skin. "I need you, Chuck," she groaned, hand slightly tightening around his shaft. His answer grunt was entirely audible, filling the penthouse at a volume that would be embarrassing if he had the decency to care (he didn't, of course - he would never apologize for how he reacted to what she did to him). He pressed his teeth together, eyes screwed tight with the effort to not let her words, her sounds, the feel of her tightening hand _and _smooth walls make him lose it. He was only human, however, and a weak one at that - she was his kryptonite, and anything she wanted was hers if it was within his power to give it to her. And since she was asking so nicely…. He withdrew his fingers, pulling her hand away from him. Before he had a chance to miss the contact, his hand was on her other hip and he was pulling her down, down, down, onto his waiting length, thrusting up inside of her to fill the last inch. An almost obscenely loud groan slipped from her lips, her eyes rolling shut as she felt her body beginning to convulse around him. The hand which had been previously gripping the back of his head unclamped its hold and she reached behind her, leaning back slightly and gripping his knee. He waited briefly for her to adjust to him, and for himself to regain his bearings. "Come for me, then let me fuck you hard and deep from behind." His teeth bit into her lightly as he finished his demand.

The new angle produced the desired effect, and while she held onto his shoulder with the other hand, her body bucked against his, his demand hot in the air. Little did Chuck know that she was right behind his little request, and after one, two, three thrusts of her hips her body was taught, her walls clenching tightly—so tightly—around him. Blair moaned loudly, the word "yes" slipping from her lips as she pushed her hips against his in aftershock, her hand firmly gripping his shoulder and knee. She was only faintly aware of the sticky juices on the inside of her thighs, more aware of his hands digging into her hips.

"Good girl," he choked out thickly, his length covered in her slick juices. Short, shallow thrusts of his hips continued while the sensation was coursing out of her. They slowed eventually, and when she straightened and her mouth came crashing down on his, he returned the kiss with equal need. Strong hands eagerly crawled over her back, pulling her close to him while the other tangled in her hair tightly as if trying to merge them together. He wasn't alone, however, for she seemed to be just as unbelievably desperate as he was. His mouth was open and teeth were scraping together, the sound mixing with his hot, ragged breaths.

With a nip at her lip, he reluctantly broke the kiss (it was like the tube connecting him to his oxygen supply had been stepped on). He gripped her forearms tightly (not too tightly, though) and pulled her arms away from around his neck. One, two, three, four, and more, all the way down the front of his shirt his fingers went. Still buried inside her, his member was _raging,_ and if he didn't let go soon his balls would never be the same. So, that had to be fixed. _Now_.

"Get up," he said, the command slapped with tender care underneath the smooth, husking quality of his voice while his heavy breathing continued. "Carefully," he added, grimacing at the loss of contact when his still throbbing erection pulled out of her. Ever so slowly she raised herself up off of him, hissing at the heat and loss of contact.

He followed her as she went, quickly unbuttoning his shirt cuffs before shedding the slightly dampened material all together. Instantly he felt cooler, a shining layer of sweat having formed on him from the exertion coupled with the fact that he'd had a shirt on. "On the couch," he instructed while he kicked his shoes away, dropping his expensive dress pants to the floor. "Put your forearms on the back, and put your knees up on the cushions." She happily obliged, and she made sure to do so slowly so she didn't hurt her ankle. Chuck didn't want her on her ankle - normally, her feet would be planted on the ground and he'd revel in the way her knees quaked uncontrollably with the effort to hold herself up while she screamed until her voice was gone, but given the circumstances….

"Are you okay?" he asked then - because if this was in any way _not_ okay for her, he wasn't picky. He planned to be able to take advantage of her (with her) for a long, long time, so for right now if he had to take her to the bedroom to continue he would.

"Chuck Bass," she whispered, her voice breathy, "I want you to _fuck me._"

A curling flame licked its way down his spine at her words, the blunt (and for her, vulgar) words sounding so out of place, yet so downright _hot_ coming out of her dainty little mouth that could croon French like she was born in Paris, and slice into any enemy with a single, well-placed word.

"I'll fuck you, Waldorf," he said darkly. As he said the words, he stepped a half an inch closer to her, one hand reaching around the front of her while the other grasped his length.

"I'll fuck you," he repeated, his fingers finding her entrance and stroking her wetness momentarily, never failing to delight in it. "Until you can hardly breathe," he promised in a heated voice. He pushed his length forward until he met his fingers and her wet opening, rubbing it along her slit teasingly, jaw tight with the self-control it was taking not to just _pound_ into her right away. "I'll fuck you until you can't see straight," he whispered, and then he was sliding in, in, in, groaning helplessly as her wet walls stretched to take all of his size in. "Chuck," his name was breathless in the air as he pushed into her from behind. Each inch slowly being engulfed by her tight channel until finally he was fully sheathed and she could feel his pelvis pressing hard against her ass.

She was always tight, but _this_ way… something about this way made him feel like she constricted around him more. The hand that had been holding himself moved immediately to her shoulder as he withdrew his hips, and then he was sliding home again with surprising force to punctuate his next words.

"I'll fuck you so hard," he took in a shaky breath as he pulled away again, "that it won't be your _ankle_ keeping you from walking," he hissed his promise, sinking back inside of her again. He was picking up his speed gradually, bolts of need shooting through his body. Just a little faster, he urged himself, his eyes clenching shut and his teeth setting so hard he might bite his tongue off if they slipped. He increased is pace, a low, continual moan slipping out.

"Fuck, Blair," he whispered her name under his breath, swallowing hard as the hand that was still reaching around to her front pinched her clit lightly.

"Oh my...Chuck!" Her walls constricted tightly around him for a moment, her hips pushing down hard onto his length. She felt like every single nerve ending in her body was electrified by pleasure. Every inch of her ivory skin was humming and alive. She felt so beautiful, so loved, so worshipped. _I love you; love you so much it consumes me. You consume me._ Blair sat up straight, pushing off the back of the couch until her sweat slicked back was pressed up against his of her hands snaked up to wrap around his neck, her head dipping back to rest on his shoulder, a look of pure pleasure painting her features.

His thoughts (not that he was capable of many coherent ones right then) were a jumble, punctuated by sharp thrusts, his pace only faltering now and then. _Wet… tight… so little and tight and_ soaking_, smooth, too… too much so, God I just want to stay inside her, love her, love of my_ life_, forever. Always._ In and out, in and out, _Jesus_ this woman, she would be the death of him.

"Yes," he grunted, long and low, the 's' sound getting dragged out to exemplify how pleased he was with her. One arm wrapped around her waist, holding her to him, while the other continued to roll the bright pink bud between his fingertips. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her jaw, his teeth hitting her skin. "Tell me," he choked out harshly against her skin, his lips moving to the long column of her neck which was exposed for his taking now that her head was positioned that way. "How you want it… what you want… what you want me to make you do,'" he breathed, allowing his teeth to graze along her pulse point.

Her hand tightened around the back of his neck, clutching him to her with all the strength she could muster, her free hand laying over his which wrapped around her midsection, before she answered him.

"Want you," she muttered, "Want you to…" she let out a sharp moan, hips undulating against his, "Make me come, Chuck. _Hard_. Want you deep inside of me." Her whole body seemed to grip him tighter, as if trying to convince herself that he was really there, that she really had him buried to the hilt (after all, she'd woken many times after having dreams about Chuck, thighs damp with juices, bed empty). "Want you to _come_," she punctuated the last word, voice soft and breathy, "With me." Her brows furrowed in concentration, soft whimpers spilling from her lips, each thrust sending her closer and closer to orgasm, each little caress of her clit sending shockwaves of pleasure through her.

"Chuck," she groaned—she could feel it, her climax was so close, _so fucking close_, "Love you," the words were out before she had a chance to stop herself. And the next thing she knew, she was spiraling into her orgasm, convulsing around him.

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><p><strong>AN: Enjoying the smut? I sure hope so. Reviews make us work faster! And thank you to all of you who have reviewed. I'm very much enjoying all of your speculations as to who is blackmailing Chuck and Blair. I'm not going to confirm or deny whether any of you have guessed correctly or not! You'll just have to wait to find out. ;)**


	10. The Queen's Defense

**A/N: Sadly, there is no smut this chapter! BUT there is some very important plot movement. Also, there are a lot of subtle "fuck you"s to the current show. Enjoy.**

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><p>Then Chuck heard it, those words, one very specific one catching his attention. He could hardly believe it (it must have been in his imagination, his mind cooking up what he wanted to hear as a result of the brain cells he'd no doubt killed from the torture of waiting so long). That brief second of distraction was all it took, because it was overwhelming then and he was being pulled under. Pleasure burned through him, like flames from an explosion billowing out, and his seed spilled inside of her, his grip almost cruelly tight on her body.<p>

"Blairblairblairblair," he breathed her name hard against her, somehow, miraculously, continuing to stand, his back only slouching slightly. His hand flew from between her legs to her jaw, pulling her so she faced him and he kissed her hard with his heart beating wildly in his chest. The hard kiss turned into several softer ones while he picked himself up from his drop, lungs practically bursting with the need for real oxygen.

"We should shower," he said, voice gruff and thick. "I'll be damned if I'm letting anyone else see you like this." This vision was for him alone, her weak limbs, wild hair, swollen lips, and sticky thighs.

"A shower is _definitely_ needed," she paused momentarily, "But it needs to be fast, your business partners may arrive soon, and even though you're quite impressive naked, I don't think they'd feel the same way."

"I'm Chuck Bass," he said, and though to him that was the only excuse needed "My body impresses everyone, regardless of their gender or sexual orientation. However, I don't think they need to be gifted with that vision." _That's for you,_ he added silently.

Wheels turned in her mind, a shower with Chuck, fast? No way in hell that was happening. "On second thought maybe we should shower separately." She laughed lightly, hand gently playing with the small hairs at the nape of his neck as her head lay rested against his shoulder.

A smirk, slow and devious, curled at his lips and he laughed quietly, almost dangerous. "What's the matter, Waldorf?" he drawled. "Don't you trust your self-control enough to be able to keep your hands off me?" he stroked her bare stomach tenderly. He was fine showering, but she… his eyes flickered to the black brace around her ankle momentarily. "I'll go first," he finally said, giving in with a featherlight kiss to her shoulder.

Fear lashed at his heart and mind with his next thought - he almost didn't want to ask, but it was out before he could stop himself.

"Did you mean it?" He was uncharacteristically quiet - not in a seductive way, but a vulnerable way - and he left the question purposefully vague. If she didn't know that she'd said it, it could stay that way. Or, if she did know, but wanted to feign amnesia… this would give her an out that could save him from agony.

When the question spilled from Chuck's lips, she froze. She thought perhaps he hadn't heard her, that she'd gotten away with it, but…her eyes popped open and her back straightened. Reluctantly, she pulled away from him, in the process losing that sweet heat of him being buried inside her.

"I…" she turned, staring at him. What could she say? Last time she'd said those three little words he seemed to simply push her away. She wouldn't deny that they'd slipped out in a moment of passion, but it didn't mean they were any less true. She searched his eyes for something, something that would tell her that she could say it, that it was okay. Fear gripped her—what if he kicked her out? What if he just needed to work out his frustrations somewhere and she was the closest warm body? She quickly told herself that she was wrong. Chuck had plenty of call-girls, all of which don't require them to hold their purse or stay overnight at a hospital. Did she mean it? Of course she did, but could she tell him that? She'd never felt more weak in her whole like than she did right at that moment. Her future was balancing on a thin line, her heart on her sleeve. Doe eyes bore deep, deep, into his own. Somewhere behind those hazel pools she'd memorized so well, was a glimmer of hope.

"I meant it, Chuck. With all my heart. If you don't feel the same way, then…then I need to know." She swallowed hard, heart beat pounding in her ears.

She meant it. She'd said it, after months of her denials and rejections haunting him (how could she still love him after what he did? _"I don't love you anymore."_), she'd said it, and she'd meant it. He was speechless, actually speechless. He didn't know what to say, but he knew he had to say something soon, because her soft brown eyes were searching his, for some sort of reaction.

"You…" he said solemnly. "Are the only," his voice constricted momentarily and he swallowed largely, "The only one I have ever loved." He paused for a moment before nodding his head once. "The only one I _love_," he confirmed his feelings for the present, feeling like his heart might explode out of his chest. She _loved him still!_ After everything, she loved him, and she'd said it.

He loved her. Even after all the scheming and the games, he still loved her! She couldn't help the bright grin that broke out on her lips, or when she took his face in her hands and kissed him for all he was worth—only pulling back when breathing became an issue. She wasn't sure whether she should rejoice or not, but the happiness bubbling up inside of her was immense, threatening to spill over the top. She loved him, he loved her. What was standing in their way? Why couldn't they be Chuck and Blair again? Blair and Chuck! They were inevitable, like he'd said during their junior year. Somewhere deep down she knew that, but half of the time she didn't want to believe it. She had to believe she was capable of moving on, of letting him move on. She was wrong. Every piece of her belonged to Chuck and vice versa. He could never be happy with anyone else. Blair didn't want him because of his money or because of his amazing skills in bed (though those qualities _definitely_ didn't hurt). She wanted him because of who he was, right to his core. The Chuck Bass she'd gotten to know, every single part of him, good and bad.

"While I hate to delay our…_celebration_," she began, hands slipping from his cheeks down to his shoulders, "Your business associates will no doubt be by soon, and you need to get _clean_." She leaned forward and laid another kiss on his lips, this time more chaste, before he reluctantly parted from her and headed to the bathroom.

After Chuck disappeared, Blair limped into his room and tossed his clothes in the hamper, hanging up her dress in his closet, and pulling out one of his robes, wrapping the large garment around her small frame. For a moment, she reveled in the smell of it. It was completely…Chuck. His natural musk, mixed in with the strong smell of scotch, and his signature cologne. In the background she faintly registered the fact that the water turned on and was running, and she also heard the tell-tale ringing of his hotel phone. She quickly scurried (as fast as she could), into the living room of his penthouse, and picked up the phone.

"Bass suite," she answered smoothly, a little smile curling on her lips.

"_Andrew Tyler is here to see Mr. Bass. It was requested I hold all visitors in the lobby, shall I send him up?"_

Blair's brow furrowed as the wheels turned in her mind, Andrew Tyler? Wasn't that his P.I.?

"Hold him for a few minutes, Chuck will be ready to see him shortly." The line went dead, and Blair returned the phone to the cradle, confusion etching her features. However she decided to drop it, for now, and grabbed her crutches, hobbling back over to the bedroom.

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><p>"That looks good on you," Chuck commented as he entered his bedroom and opened the door to his closet. "You can't keep it though," he added, smirking a touch while he sorted through his clothes, pulling out a gray suit jacket and pants, tossing them onto the foot of the bed.<p>

"You're only saying that because it's _yours_," there was a smirk pulling on her lips, "And you know if I wanted it then I would have it. Luckily for you, this is just temporary. I didn't want to put my dress back on, only to keep having it removed."

"I should argue with that since getting you out of your clothes is so much fun," he started, his eyes glinting mischievously. "But I think getting you out of that will be just as entertaining." He paused for a beat, "Were there any calls while I was in there?" he asked idly, looking between a blue dress shirt and a white one.

"Yes, the front desk called and said that Andrew Tyler was here to see you. I told them to hold him for a few minutes before sending him up." Blair slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom, only pausing in the doorway to say, "I'll be in the shower."

He simply nodded with a quick, "Thank you," smiling at her in return when she excused herself, watching her leave his bedroom and then turning to the clothes he'd lain out. After discarding the towel in the hamper, he donned a pair of boxers before pulling on the rest of his clothes. With a final brush at the front of his suit jacket and a last swipe of the comb through his hair, he was ready - and just on time, too, judging by the ping he heard from the elevator. He stared at himself hard in the mirror, letting out a heavy sigh. _Don't let her down._ In three long strides he was at his door, opening it and stepping out.

"Tyler," he greeted him, eyes falling immediately on the bowl of whipped cream (greatly softened by now) that had been left on the couch and the plate of strawberries and croissants. "Pardon the mess," he said smoothly. "I haven't had a chance to have breakfast put away yet." He placed the bowl on the table and sat himself down. "What do you have to show me?" Tyler eased himself down into a chair as well before procuring a file and flipping it open.

"This is the driver," he informed Chuck, passing over a picture. His eyes narrowed immediately as he looked down at it. "Goes by several aliases, none of which seem to be his real name. He was reported crossing through the Canadian border, and one of my contacts found him in Toronto. We don't think he's going to stay there, though, he seems to know someone's on his tail. If he hops to Europe he'll be able to disappear, or at least hide extremely well."

"So how do we get him?" Chuck inquired gruffly. There was silence and he looked up sharply.

_"_Mr. Bass, I think it would be in your best interests to let him go to Europe-"

Chuck's eyes squinted and he leaned forward in his chair immediately, nearly laughing from the sheer insanity of that suggestion.

"Are you insane?" he asked, his voice threatening and soft. "You think I'm going to let this guy waltz into Europe when you yourself just said that if he got into Europe it would be all but impossible to find him again? That I'm just going to let him slip through my fingers without a chance to get them around his neck first?"

His investigator took the photograph back from him. _"_Kid, if you would listen for just a mo-"

Chuck shook his head. "_You_ listen, he _hurt Blair,_" his voice thundered. He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He hurt her, and if he gets to Europe he may come back in a few months time to try and _kill _her, regardless of whether or not I leave that money tomorrow. You think I believe them when they say they'll leave her alone? You think they aren't going to pay for hurting her, for threatening to do worse?"

"Mr. Bass, if he got to Europe," he charged on, despite the look of pure venom Chuck was throwing at him, _"_He could lead us straight to the larger operation at hand. It's more than one person at work here."

Chuck was silent for awhile before finally taking the bait. "How do you know?" He launched himself out of his seat and stalked around to the bar, grabbing a bottle of scotch and a glass. He unstopped the glass bottle before pouring a dose into the crystal glass and taking a large gulp from the container, the burn familiar and soothing in his throat as the liquor slid down to his stomach.

"A few reasons, actually. One, if it were just him, he'd need to stick around to collect the money that you leave. He's fled the country, which means someone else is sticking it out to pick up the dough. That same someone is probably watching your every step to see if you're complying with their wishes. Secondly, they asked for one million euros. Not dollars, not yen, not pesos, but euros."

At that Chuck turned. "It's common sense. Everyone knows the euro holds more value over the dollar. It's used in a wider variety of places, making being on the run easy, and they could switch it out easily enough and still have a tidy sum of money."

But his investigator was shaking his head. _"_You're thinking a bit too much like a businessman," he criticized.

Chuck's jaw tensed and he took another swallow of liquor, his brain processing the new information. "Keep a close eye on him," he instructed finally. "Tail him all the way to Europe yourself if you have to. I want his whereabouts known every hour of _every day_. I swear to God, if you lose him, you'll lose your head." There was a chill in the air and they both knew the threat was serious. "Also," he pulled out his phone as Tyler rose to leave, scrolling through to the text he'd received that morning. He showed it to the P.I. who read it and shook his head.

"The best that could be done is to have your phone tracked so we could get their location, but now that this has already gone through, there's not much we can do."

Chuck nodded simply and waved the man out, downing another mouthful of scotch. It wasn't quite noon, and it certainly wasn't five o'clock (he winced at the meaning that time now held for him - at five he would have exactly twenty-four hours left), but he'd never been one to follow the rules with what was proper for drinking. He felt utterly defeated, like he'd been fighting for days only to lose it all in the end. He just wanted to find out who was responsible for this - if they'd managed to put her in a hospital bed, he knew very well that they were certainly capable of putting her in a body bag. His stomach lurched - he felt sick - and he was at the bar again, pouring another glass. That was when he realized that he was alone, and he was suddenly itching to hold onto her.

"Blair," he called through the penthouse, walking towards the bathroom. "Are you still in there?" He frowned.

* * *

><p>After she'd thoroughly washed her hair, body, and face (as well as adding a silk conditioner to her brown locks), Blair slipped out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror to examine herself. Her skin was practically glowing, something that she found rarely happened. She assumed it was her body's hormonal response to orgasm, but then again, the fact that she was in love helped too. Speaking of which, was the meeting over? She figured it'd be best to lay low until she was positive.<p>

Then again…Blair pressed her ear up to the door to try and divulge as much information possible, however she only heard their muffled voices; her efforts were a failure. There was no use in trying to listen to a conversation that she couldn't make out. Pushing away from the door, she returned to the other side of the bathroom and scooped up Chuck's robe, slipping it on. She hoped his meeting would be done soon—she was getting bored and wasn't sure whether Chuck wanted her to be seen or not.

While she patiently waited for Chuck's meeting to be over she decided she would brush her hair so when it dried it wasn't a mess, and then snooped through his things. She wanted to make sure that there wasn't a single trace of Eva in the entire bathroom. As quietly as possible she opened each medicine cabinet, but all she found were pill bottles, a variety of aftershaves, toothpaste, a few combs and brushes, and a couple of different hair gels. There was no evidence a girl had ever lived here—no pink shavers or fruity lotions. Either Eva was very masculine, or Chuck had already done the deed of clearing his bathroom of anything that had her name on it. Shrugging, Blair closed the cabinets and drawers she had opened, just in time to hear Chuck's voice calling her name. She immediately limped over to the door and pulled it open (assuming his beckoning of her to be an okay to come out) with a smile on her face. However, her smile soon faded into a frown, concern etched on her features. She noted the glass of scotch in his hand, and that look on his face, the one she'd seen at his father's funeral—the one in which he felt powerless. She immediately stepped forward, eyes sweeping over him to check for any changes besides the alcohol, but found none.

"Chuck," she began slowly, eyes searching his own, "What's wrong?" She itched to reach out and take the scotch from him, to tell him everything was okay, but she didn't know what had happened. Had he found out some terrible news about his father? About Lily? Sometimes Blair didn't know why Chuck insisted on having a private investigator, after all, some things would be better if they were kept a secret. But like father like son. It was times like these, when he fell into his old habits, that she really became concerned. She stepped forward once more, her hands reaching up to frame his face. Her eyes urging him to tell her what was wrong.

Heat filled his face, flooding through his body, when her hands reached for his face. She was so soft against him and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Without even trying to, she grounded him. She was here. She was safe. She was in his robe, in his penthouse, having just had her body thoroughly invaded by his. There was no one coming for her, not today anyway. And anyone who wanted to get to her would have to go through him.

He grabbed her arm and turned his face so he was laying a kiss on the inside of her wrist. He lingered for a long time, his eyes still closed while his thumb rubbed circles against her skin. She was better than any aged liquor, any narcotic… than anything at all, really. He swallowed hard before opening his eyes and running his hand up her arm and to her own face, cradling it gently against the curve of his palm. His mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, as he battled with himself.

"Nothing is… wrong, per se" he said, testing the word carefully. "It's nothing that I can't fix. I _am_ fixing it," he added. Seconds passed, and then he was speaking again. "I…" his voice died for a second and he cleared his throat. "I love you." They were quiet, truthful, painted with tenderness something reverential. "You know that? More than money. Or the pleasures it can buy me. More than Nate, even," a whisper of a smirk, and then it was fading. "I will never let anything happen to you again. I would give up all of this," he gestured with the hand holding his glass, the light amber liquid sloshing up against the sides a bit, "If it would keep you happy, and _safe_." The soft words were hard, steely, and determined, and he stressed the last word importantly, stroking the side of one of her roses and cream cheeks. "Do you believe me?" he asked, his eyes burning into hers, only slightly afraid of what answer she might give.

Many questioned rose up for Blair, but she chose to suppress them—he seemed stressed enough as it was. Her arms slowly wormed their way around his neck as he spoke, his eyes searching hers for…_something_.

"Yes," she responded with conviction, "_Of course_ I believe you."

Her arms slightly tightened around his neck then, and she kissed him, her eyes fluttering shut. Mixed in with his own intoxicating taste was the strong presence of his aged scotch—she opened her mouth, deepening the kiss. She hoped the simple act would reassure him, make him come up from whatever rut he'd fallen into. After a few moments, she pulled back slightly, her lips just a breath away from his own, "I'm not going anywhere, Chuck."

The words she murmured, caused him to still, his hand fisting into the material of the too-large robe. He only believed it when she said it, because she never did leave him. Not… not without him pushing her away, anyway. Still, it left him speechless, incapable of expressing his emotions even to himself. He hauled her body against his when she kissed him again, opening his mouth marginally wider as he returned her kiss with heated fervor. She was warming him through in a way that the scotch in his hand never could, and the aftertaste in the back of his throat was suddenly especially bitter in comparison to the taste of her mouth.

A moment later, however, the kiss was ruined by the sound of Dan Humphrey's voice. They'd been too caught up in each other to hear the dinging of the elevator. They parted from the kiss but the damage had already been done. A wide-eyed Dan Humphrey was staring at the two of them, lips red with kisses, Blair in Chuck's bathrobe, hair slightly damp.

"Uh…is, Nate here by any chance? I tried calling his cell but he didn't pick up so I just thought I'd swing by. Wait, don't you two, uh…hate each other?" Blair's eyes lowered as she stared at Dan, standing there and blabbing off like he _always_ did.

"You didn't think to maybe…call the penthouse before rudely barging in?" She asked, leaving no room for argument as she shunned him with a look.

"I, uh, I didn't mean to interrupt anything so, by all means," he gestured with his hands before turning to walk away, only to pivot and face them again, "But do you happen to know where I can find Nate?"

Blair gave him an incredulous look, "Do I look like I keep tabs on Nate's whereabouts?" Her eyes flickered up to Chuck as if to tell him to deal with the Humphrey. She honestly wouldn't be surprised if twenty minutes later a gossip girl blast was posted about them being back together. By why should she care? If she was happy with Chuck, why did it matter who knew? _It's because I'm a control freak_, she told herself, _and that I want to be the one who decides when we come out_. She saw something in Dan Humphrey's gaze that surprised her. Something that she'd only seen once before—a plot twisting in his mind, even some anger. It always frustrated her how others were so fake. Blair was a bitch and she didn't care who knew. Sure, she'd twist things in order to get her way, but it was expected of her. Not a Humphrey. _The money must be getting to his head_, she reasoned, her eyes quickly raking across him once. The _least_ he could do was exchange his hand-me-downs for some designer labels, or…get a haircut.

Chuck met Blair's eyes when she turned them up to him, slowly setting them on the target they both seemed intent on destroying. It felt good to have his partner back by his side. His hand slid down her back as he pulled it away, letting it brush against her ass subtly as he went as if giving her a signal. _I'll get rid of him._ He extricated himself from her arms and walked slowly towards Humphrey, like a predator stalking his prey.

"Nate isn't here," he said. "Which I'm sure you've deduced by now, which means you have _no other reason to be here_," he all but snarled the words. It was good to take out some of his adrenaline on this punching bag that couldn't care less. "So if you don't get out, I'll have security come and _throw you out_," he emphasized, jamming his thumb into the button, the doors instantly sliding back. "From the top floor of this building," he added. They shared a look before the tasteless Brooklynite was in the elevator and the doors were rolling shut. He sighed heavily and turned back to her. "Remind me to have that elevator sanitized," he said, tossing back the remainder of his scotch finally, swallowing it in one mouthful.

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><p><strong>AN: Never fear, there will be smut in the next chapter. And as always, DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW! It makes us work faster...the more reviews...the more we update the story...deal? Deal. :D**


	11. Forever

**A/N: This chapter is long, but it's my (B) favorite so far. It's purely fluff and smut. Make sure you read it all...I promise you, it's worth it. Also, remember to review. Seriously, it means the wooooorld to us! Review, review, review! We'll update quicker, promise! That being said, thanks to all of you who have reviewed! We love reading your thoughts, speculations, and compliments!**

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><p>"I'd almost forgotten how well we take people down together, Bass. And how <em>hot<em> you are when you're going in for the kill."

Chuck turned to face her and smirked, before he gestured to the plate of croissants, still untouched due to their preferred morning activities.

"You should eat something," he said. "Or you could call down for something else if you want," he finished.

Blair limped as gracefully as possible over to the coffee table, snatching a croissant off the platter and picking at the fluffy pastry with her fingers.

"Don't forget," she started, chewing a bite of the breakfast food before swallowing, "You promised me a bottle of my favorite vintage Dom, and I'd hate to have to leave early because you didn't…_satisfy_ me." A sly smirk pulled on the corners of her lips as she plucked another piece off of the croissant and tossed it in her mouth.

"Now, Waldorf, you know I satisfy you better than anyone. Even without champagne," he drawled, his heated gaze purposefully taking a long, lazy walk up her figure. He dialed down to the desk quickly, watching her eat the pastry in a practiced manner. "Send a bottle of vintage Dom up to the Bass penthouse. Quickly, please. It's urgent."

Blair smirked over at him, amusement painted on her features at his urgent request, "Thank you…on a more serious note, however, I won't be able to spend the night. After all, I have my usual birthday rituals that need attending to, as well as not wanting to worry Serena and Dorota."

A flicker of recognition popped into Chuck's eyes, and he nodded slowly, walking around to stand behind her, letting his arms snake around her waist, pausing to gently gather her dampened hair and push it over one shoulder.

"Ah, that's right," he pressed a soft kiss to the nape of her neck, nuzzling the spot warmly. "Your birthday party's tomorrow, isn't it."

"There _might_ be a small gathering of a few high-society people taking place at the Waldorf penthouse. And low-society, if Humphrey and his lapdog Vanessa decide to show up. Of course I didn't invite them, but for some reason they always seem to manage to make an unwanted appearance."

"Am I invited?" he asked, laughter bubbling on the edge of his voice as he smirked against her skin, kissing her neck again. "Or do I have to crash it?" he husked with another kiss.

"Sorry Bass, it's an exclusive event, and I don't think you're on the list."

"You know, it seems to me there's a habit of me having my way with you at your birthday parties….." Technically only twice in the last four years, but with any luck he'd make it three. "I know how much you like tradition, and I'd hate to make you disappointed on your birthday."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure you have your way with me…we just can't get caught."

"So _this_ is a secret then," he commented. "I can keep a secret," he said finally. "So long as I'm the only one you keep it with," he gave her a meaningful look.

Blair nodded once, her damp brown curls gently bobbing with her motion, "It's a secret only until the right time comes," she stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And don't pretend like you don't _like_ sneaking around. It makes it more exciting. I know how much you love a game."

They were suddenly interrupted by the elevator dinging and Chuck looked over at the boy carrying in the bottle of iced champagne. "Thank you," he said curtly. "That will be all." He reluctantly extracted his arms from around her and went for the bar, snatching two champagne flutes from behind it and returning to the ice bucket. He poured a good amount of the golden liquid into the glass and held it up to the light before holding it out to her with a slightly raised eyebrow.

She accepted the glass and took a dainty sip, reveling in the way it tasted on her tongue, and slid down her throat smoothly.

"I'm going to the jewelers tomorrow," Blair spoke nonchalantly, her hand reaching forward and slightly loosening his tie, "I'm going to put a couple pieces on hold. Just so you know." Stepping forward she wrapped an arm around his neck, her hand gently playing with the hair at the nape, before closing the space in between the two of them, her lips gently playing against his own.

One dark eyebrow cocked when she spoke again, her voice just a little _too casual_. "That's nice. I'm sure someone will find that very informative and make their way over there." His eyes gleamed as he answered, knowing fine well that the two of them knew that would certainly be on his to-do list tomorrow.

"Thanks for the champagne," she muttered, changing the subject, a sly smile on her lips.

"For you, _anything_," he whispered deeply, capturing her in another quick kiss. The hand that wasn't holding his champagne glass reached for a strawberry and he took one bite, the fruit juicy and just a touch sweet in his mouth. He offered the next bite to her, his eyes searing right into her. "Eat," he told her in a soft voice.

His eyes were glued to her mouth when she opened it to acquiesce with his request (well, order was probably the better word). Her lips fit just so around the remaining end of the berry and a frisson of lust burst up his spine - there was something _else_ her mouth fit perfectly around, too.

After she'd swallowed the bite of berry, she raised a perfectly manicured brow at him, taking another sip from her champagne, "You're the one who needs to eat, Bass. You're drinking on an empty stomach."

"Whatever damage that's been done to my brain or my liver isn't going to be staid by pastries and berries," he reminded her. "Think of it as a coat for my stomach for the rest of the day."

Blair didn't even try to hide her frustration as she rolled her eyes and let a sigh slip from her lips, "You think I don't know that?" She paused, "Anyways, I enjoy fussing over you, so shut up and get used to it."

With that, she leaned down and set her glass on the table, tearing at the end of a croissant and offering him the bite of flaky pastry, "So, how long do I have with you before your next…_obligation_?"

The triumphant smile that lit up on her face when he took the offered croissant, however, faded immediately when his tongue ever-so-"innocently" (_that Basstard_!) darted out to relieve her fingers of any crumbs. Her sharp intake of breath should have been enough to clue him in that it had obviously affected her. _Why the hell does he have to be so…so…Chuck!_

"Not until this afternoon," Chuck said finally, having swallowed the bite. "I'm sure I'll find something to do with myself in the meantime," he smiled darkly.

"You're right. I guess you will have to find something to do with _yourself_." As if on cue, she heard her phone ringing in the other room, notifying her that she'd received a text message. "That's probably Dorota texting me about birthday plans." She spoke as if it were the most important thing in the world, and she was totally uninterested in his subtle sexual advances (which was completely _not_ the case), "If you'll excuse me."

He stared after her as she limped off to his room, blinking, something between awe, frustration, and unbreakable love filtering through his mind. That magnificent, cunning, temptress. With hardly any effort at all she had him switched to stealth mode.

"I'd almost forgotten how comfortable your bed was!" She called out to him, texting Dorota back about her flower arrangements, while she sipped on the champagne flute she'd picked up when she left Chuck in the living room.

Chuck was used to women chasing him, wanting him, but the problem was she was also used to being the chased. The more she pulled away from him, the more he wanted her, the more he _had to have her_. The question was _how_ to get her. His first instinct was to stalk in after her and trap her on the bed (which, according to her, was _comfortable_) and get her out of that robe. Or… he could hit her where it really hurt. Blair Waldorf was a first-rate Queen. She demanded attention, and would have been fabulous in the times when monarchy actually mattered, before parliaments, presidents, senators, and congresspeople. That said, to not acknowledge her at all… an evil gleam sparked in his eyes. To ignore her would potentially be one of the most disrespectful (and frustrating) ordeals he could put her through. The prospect of fun was so potent it was practically overpowering the remnants of alcohol and buttery croissant on his tongue. Smirking only slightly to himself, he composed his features as he walked towards his bedroom and opened the door. His eyes were on her intently as he walked closer and closer to the bed, but out of nowhere he veered off and went for the table beside the bed.

"Don't let me interrupt," he commented in a gravelly voice, withdrawing a sleek silver laptop. "I just came in here to get this. You do whatever it is you have to do. _By yourself._" He volleyed the words she'd twisted earlier back in her direction, a pleased feeling radiating off him. Without looking at her, he turned and walked right out of the room.

_That Motherchucker!_ How dare he deny her attention? Frustrated, she threw her phone down on the bed and crossed her arms, much like a child throwing a temper tantrum; only he couldn't see it, because he was _in a different room_. Even though her annoyance showed through most, there was really a sick part beneath the surface, a part of her that enjoyed these games. _Chuck wants to play hard to get? Fine, then that's what we'll play. _If he wanted to underestimate her power then that was fine, he was just going to have to be reminded who Blair Waldorf was. Thoroughly.

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><p>Chuck sank into the cushions and flipped his screen up, pressing the button and waiting for it to turn on. He tapped his fingers impatiently against the sides of the machine, growing increasingly short-tempered with it. It loaded perfectly fine, but right then, when he sorely needed the distraction (because he had to <em>win<em>, damn it, even if there were technically no losers in this game), it was taking eons and they were slowly moving into a new era in time. He typed his password quickly when he was prompted to and hardly ten seconds later a spreadsheet was open in front of him, one that he had been delaying for far too long. He scrolled through to where he had left off, checking numbers as he went. By the time he got to the next row of blank boxes, however, the boxes seemed disturbingly tiny, and the numbers jumbled together.

He blinked hard; suddenly, they were fine, and he held back a grunt of annoyance. A doctor might have said the alcohol was causing him to lose his focus or for his vision to blur, but he knew the real reason was perfectly snug in his room (on his _bed_ he groaned internally). How was he expected to focus on profits, prospected profits, and the few spots where he either lost or broke even, when she was no doubt sitting on his bed with the most furious (downright adorable) pout at having been left in the dust for _business_?

Thinking about her pout brought him to her lips, those wonderful lips that knew exactly how to kiss him and caress his body. The reason that the inevitable pout was on her lips - her _temper_ - wasn't helpful either. Because she got so damn _hot_ when she was angry, either with him or at somebody else. It was when she really crackled until she exploded, and he had many a fond memory of goading her over smaller things until she was in his lap and he was groping blindly under her skirt to feel any part of her he could find.

No matter how hard this was (and, thanks to his musings, it had just gotten a bit more so), that knowledge reassured him that it would all be worth it when he finally got to thrust inside of her wet glory, nails tearing at him unforgivingly and his teeth making good work of her collarbone.

His phone buzzed loudly in his pocket and he shifted his weight on the cushions while he extracted it. Her name was large and bold across the screen and he looked at it warily. _Could be begging me… could be sending me something to torture me…._ He couldn't leave it unopened, though.

When an image came into view, he squinted, puzzled at the dark blob occupying the frame. When it dawned on him, his mouth went dry- an empty robe having never looked so appealing to him. He nearly got a crick in his neck with how fast he turned his head to stare at his bedroom. Naked. In there. All alone. He scrolled down and read the accompanying message:

**Waiting 4 U. Want U so bad.**

His legs urged him to get up and _go_. However…. Two could play this sort of game.

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><p>Blair nearly swore when she heard his phone go off, and found that he wasn't bursting in his bedroom, hard on raging, eyes dark with lust. <em>He's ruining my plan!<em> She thought, frustrated, that putting on her dress was a wasted effort if he wasn't going to come in wanting to ravish her, only to be infuriated that she wasn't naked. Just as her mind was beginning to concoct some new plans to torture him (she'd seriously considered shoving her phone between her legs and snapping a picture), her phone buzzed, alerting her of a new text message:

**Bad, huh? Bet UR wet 4 me already. Do U want 2 touch Urself?**

Blair gulped, all too aware of the moisture pooling between her legs, thighs rubbing together in an attempt to alleviate some of the need for friction _down there, _while she quickly typed a reply.

* * *

><p>He was going to kill her. Painlessly, quickly (he loved her, after all), but he <em>was<em> going to kill her, because _she_ was killing _him_, and fair was fair, damn it. He glared hard at the screen in front of him, as if he could command it to cause her name to appear, signaling her reply. The very ends of his nails were turning a yellowy-white as he gripped the tiny black device as if his life depended on it. Truthfully, in this moment, his life very well _may_ depend on it - it was like he could _feel_ the oxygen and blood being cut off from his brain and being (almost painfully) redirected towards another part of his body. He was tempted - _so tempted_- to leap off the couch and find out the answer to his question for himself. Maybe help her along….

Vibrations shot through his hands when his phone finally (finally!) went off, and he barely took note of her name over the screen before he'd jammed the button so hard he fleetingly wondered if he'd broken it.

**So wet 4 U. Im touching myself, wish it was U.**

He scanned her words, once, twice, and a third time with his eyes before they shut and he swallowed hard, stifling a groan. He leaned forward in his seat as if he were about to bolt from the couch, but at the last second he pulled himself back, the action probably looking quite comical - like he was literally being tugged in two directions. He swallowed again and exhaled heavily through his nose, one hand fisting and pressing into his mouth. That girl was always getting the upper hand with him - he didn't want to give in. But then again, if one were to look at it a certain way…. By _not_ going in, his skin was crawling and erection was burning for her touch, any kind of touch she was willing to give him, he was letting her get to him.

If he went in there, though, and attended to her (thereby attending to himself also), she would no longer be wielding any power over him (correction: for the moment, because the tease would always have a vice-like grip on him). And she was _touching_ herself…. Visuals of her dainty, pure fingers diving into her hot depths filled his mind, accompanied by the wide-eyed wonder at the sensations it would bring, her pearly teeth biting into her rose-colored bottom lip….

_Damn it all to hell and back,_ he seethed, launching himself from the couch, his shoes tapping harshly against the floor of his penthouse. He flung open the door, eyes instantly honing in on his bed, where he saw….

"What," he started, a contradictory chill to his otherwise heated tone. "The hell," he raked his eyes over her body, taking note of her hands (anywhere _but_ between her legs), and her body (absolutely _not_ the naked vision he'd conjured up). "Is this?" he finished his question, a dangerous intonation in his voice now. He shut the door and walked slowly and purposefully towards the bed, his eyes black with a mix of fury and pent-up lust. "Do you care to explain why you're lounging on my bed like _this_?" he emphasized the word, gesturing with his hand, as if seeing her in this way was the most insulting thing she could have done. Given the circumstances, perhaps it was.

"It doesn't matter why I'm lounging on your bed _like this_. The only thing that matters is that I won, and you lost." She was sure her smug attitude was driving him crazy, and after all, she didn't blame him. If Chuck had done the same thing to her, she'd be pissed. So pissed she'd probably tell him that he wasn't getting any sex for a week, only to angrily tear off his clothes and demand he fuck her. Blair sat up a little more, pushing herself off the backboard. "You can claim your prize now," she said softly, slightly uncrossing her legs. "Or you can sit through another business meeting with that impressive erection, which doesn't look too comfortable, while I send you more _pictures_…but they won't be of bathrobes."

Chuck loomed over her tiny figure, his displeasure evident in every line of his face. No, to be displeased was a soft word - at this point he was enraged. He was horny, he was hard, and she _wasn't naked_. It was a travesty, to say the least.

He couldn't say he wasn't tempted by the offer of pictures (another time, he told himself), but the offer of _her_ was far too much. With his eyes blazing, he kicked off his shoes and undid his jacket, shaking it from his shoulders and tossing it to a chair. He pulled his shirt out of his pants without any grace, unbuttoning the material with quick fingers. It followed the direction of his jacket once he was done, and then he was on the bed, crawling up next to her.

He looked at her straight on before saying, "We'll see who the winner is after this," he said simply before his lips were on hers in a demanding way that promised he would torture her and she would _like it_. Quick as a flash his palm was on her thigh, kneading the supple flesh while his hand moved higher and higher up her dress. What his fingers met, though (rather, what they didn't) surprised him momentarily, but he recovered himself well.

"My, my, Waldorf," he husked, kissing her jaw. "Isn't this quite the development," he slid his fingers right between the highest point of her legs, his digits easily coming into contact with the warmth and wetness waiting there. He stroked her, absolutely delighted by this new discovery, earning a desperate whimper from Blair. "You know how I love your La Perlas," he rumbled low, "But I have to admit I would raise no objections if you were to adopt this method of dressing yourself." His smirked. "Being able to _take_ you," he pushed two fingers inside of her in time with the emphasized word, "_Whenever_ I want, _wherever_ I want… it's appealing."

"Chuck!" She gasped, _loudly_, her fingers tightening in his hair, her other hand reaching behind her to hold onto the headboard as his two thick digits pumped inside of her, pushing so deeply into her center, yet not enough.

His mouth closed around her earlobe momentarily before he was whispering hotly against it. "What do you want, Blair? Do you want me to use my mouth on this aching little center of yours? Do you want to scream while I fuck you with my tongue?" there was a silken cover to his words despite the crude edges they bore.

Another moan slipped from her lips as she pushed her hips back against his fingers, practically fucking herself on his hand. "Yes," she somehow managed to get out, not even trusting her own voice with how breathy and soft it was.

A wordless smirk was all he offered when she got out that one syllable, three letter word in a breathy puff of air. He maneuvered his way back down the bed slightly, withdrawing his fingers and pulling her body down the bed only slightly so that he might have a better position. He pushed the edges of her dress up roughly past her hips and ass, exposing all of her legs and wetness to him.

He kissed and nipped his way up the inside of her thighs, coaxing them apart as he went until finally he was at his center, his hot breath falling over the drenched folds that were awaiting him. He went for her clit first, suckling earnestly at the pink bud, groaning at the taste of her.

Blair's hips surged forward against his waiting mouth, a loud moan spilling from her lips as her free hand tangled in his hair. She could feel her climax rising, each little lick and caress was bringing her closer and closer. Her eyes fell shut, nonsense words pouring from her mouth.

Chuck licked his way up her slit, toying with the wetness he found there. It was so hard… _so hard_… to control himself, to follow through. All he wanted to do was have her come, was to taste the explosion all over his mouth and to feel with his tongue and fingers how she pulsed when she released. _He was an asshole, a genuine one, and he was going to Hell for what he was about to do._

Blair'seyes flew open as Chuck pulled back, licking his lips, a wicked smile on his face. She would've understood if he walked away before, but now? When she was ready to resort to begging for a release? Her mouth opened so she could yell at him, and announce that she was leaving, _how dare he?_

"You should know not to toy with me, Blair," he said, only the slightest tremor in his otherwise steely voice. "Girls aren't nice don't get any… _niceness_ in return," he continued as he crawled off the bed. Instantly, though, he was unbuttoning his pants and pulling the zipper down, pushing it past his hips with his boxers, his hard-on itself burning with desire. "Get on your knees for me, lover," he the words were all but purred. "I promise to make it good for you after if you do," he put the offer on the table. It was her choice now - either take a detour for a moment before they both ended up with what they wanted (he just wanted to feel her mouth around him before he was in _her_), or leave both of them frustrated and newly angry with the other over not being able to get their releases.

Blair scooted towards the edge of the bed to where he was now standing, face screwed up in anger and agony (she was so close, damnit!), and then her eyes fell to his exposed length, and she forgot what she was going to say.

His words didn't faze her.

She understood the game now.

Blair scooted the rest of the way off the bed, until she was standing next to Chuck, eyes staring straight into his. Their expressions matched each other's, a look of competition, and lust. Blair put both her hands on his chest and pushed him up against the wall before dropping to her knees, and unceremoniously wrapping her lips around his length.

His teeth clenched and one hand gripped a fistful of her chocolate curls just a bit too tightly for a moment before he relaxed his grasp. She rarely took him right away, and to go from the air of the penthouse into the wet depths of her mouth so quickly was startling; it took _all of him_ not to thrust his hips forward on instinct, and it helped that one of her hands was pushing against him to keep him planted against the painted drywall.

_Perfect, perfect, always was too good at this, should have known not to, Jesus her mouth feels, want more, more._ He had officially passed the line of coherency - inherent nature was driving him now.

Blair's tongue swiveled around him as she took him deeper before slowly pulling back, and letting him go with an audible pop. "Chuck," she hissed, her tongue darting out to drag from the bottom of his length up to his head, "If you _come_ before having brought me to at least _one_ orgasm," her tongue swirled lightly around the tip, her hand gently pumping, "You will be _so_ sorry."

It took awhile for her warning to penetrate his brain (everything seemed to be moving so slowly, yet her mouth wasn't moving fast enough). He hissed as her breath fell against his length, dampened from her pretty mouth, fingers tightening just a bit.

"Technically," he ground out, the words strained and just a bit off pitch for him. "I've already given you _two_ orgasms today." He could never resist talking back to her, twisting technicalities to suit his needs. "And if you'd been good, you'd already have come all over my face." The last word came out with a harsher edge than he'd intended, but he couldn't help it, not when she was pulling him into her again. "Damn it, _Blair_," he gasped her name, closing his eyes tightly when he felt a tremor roll up and down his spine, his free hand curling into a fist while he tried to rein himself back in.

She found herself getting agitated when he spoke. Didn't he get it? She had all the power now, which means he shuts up and takes it. Of course, it was never easy with him. _Relentless Basstard_.

Slowly, Blair pulled back from his length, "Don't be such a Basshole," she hissed, her hand slowly pumped him in the absence of her mouth, "It doesn't matter how many you've given me today," her tongue darted out to lick the precum forming at the tip, "I want _more_." At the last word her fingers slightly tightened around him, "And besides…" her lips wrapped around the head of his length for a moment, hand continuing its movement, "You like it when I'm bad."

He looked down at her, watching with anticipation as she continued talking (_mouth_ around _me_, he demanded), a half-smirk-half-grimace working over his face. He couldn't deny it, she was right - something about watching the prim and proper do the very naughty turned him on exponentially. Even when, at this point, it may very well be detrimental to his health.

_Don't say a word, don't say a word, don't give her a reason to stop,_ he squashed his perpetual desire to goad her while the vein in his temple throbbed when she finally returned to him again, fully this time. His brow began to crease with concentration and he could feel his muscles getting incredibly tight trying to hold himself together. He would _not_ come… not yet…. That had never really been the plan when he'd made her get in front of him, but it was harder to keep that resolve when her lips and tongue were doing such a fantastic, knee-buckling job on him. He was only vaguely aware of her hand moving down his body, but he was _extremely_ aware of when they came to rest against his tightening balls, which seemingly rejoiced at the contact with her hand. He thrust forward slightly and two jolts ricocheted through him, his hand pulling at her hair just fractionally more.

_Go on, just come, you know you want to, you'll make it up to her, lick her till she screams, fuck her hard anyway and on any surface she wants later. Just come, come hard, right down her throat, watch her take it, watch her, watch her, watch her…._ That was his limit, he supposed.

"Blair," he rasped. "Blair, stop," the word felt wrong, but he knew he had to. "Stop, Blair. _Please_," he grunted, giving another thrust of his hips while simultaneously trying to gently ease her back off of him. He needed to be _in_ her, needed to make her come, too.

Blair slowly pulled back from his length and removed both her hands from him, before slowly standing up, making sure not to put too much weight on her injured foot. Her pink tongue darted out quickly to lick her lips, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder so she didn't lose her balance. If possible, her doe eyes darkened even more when she caught sight of his expression. He had been close, _really close_. A smirk pulled on her lips as pride filled her, after all, Blair Waldorf loved being strong and in control. She was the Queen of the social hierarchy in Manhattan, and as always, he was her King. Leaning forward, she captured his lips in a searing kiss, his hand greedily going to her chin and pulling her closer.

They _needed_ each other. _Now._ An arm wrapped around her waist as she backed them in what he vaguely recognized as the direction of his bed, subconsciously taking extra care to ensure she didn't trip or fall with her ankle. Chuck stopped them, then, and broke the kiss, his mouth burning a trail down her jaw and neck while he reached for her zipper.

"You are wearing _too many clothes_," he grumbled lowly into her skin, his disapproval making itself very clear. He yanked unforgivingly at the zipper (if it broke and she had to go home with a mangled dress, it was her own fault for wearing it when he'd first walked into the room, he reasoned). "I could already be _fucking_ you, making you come," he nipped at her collar bone, "If you weren't wearing it," he chastised her, sliding his fingers over her shoulders and pulling the dress down her body.

She gasped at his words, so hot and blunt, but that's what she needed. She needed Chuck to be buried inside her to the hilt, over and over and over until she came, screaming. She only screamed for Chuck. Breaking from her reverie, she backed up more until her legs hit the side of the bed, crawling back until she was in the center, beckoning Chuck towards her.

"Are you going to _fuck_ me already, or are you just dishing out empty promises?" She nearly cringed at using the vulgar word, since Blair hated swearing, but it seemed appropriate in the moment.

And apparently, he had no problem with it either.

Blair didn't even have to finish the entire sentence before his knees were on the bed and he'd closed the distance between them, pulling her mouth to his again, unbearable love and lust ripping through every sinew until he flamed.

"Do you even know," he growled against her swollen lips, pushing her down, down down, hand curving perfectly at the side of her neck, "how damn _hot_," he hissed the word, his tongue stroking it gracefully, "You are when you talk like that?"

He kissed her again, longer, his tongue diving into her mouth to get her closer, to feel more of her.

He grounded her, his touch, his kiss, the way he filled her so perfectly.

Without him, she wasn't whole.

Without him, she wasn't Blair Waldorf.

"You act like you're so clean," he whispered, subtly adjusting himself so he was locked in to support himself (he _couldn't_ crush her, even accidentally) while he reached around to pull one of her legs up around his hip harshly, the tip of him just grazing the wet front of her. "But you're not, are you, Blair?" he taunted in a whisper. "You're just as bad as I am, aren't you, Princess? You love it when I tell you I want you to touch yourself and think of me. You love telling me _exactly_ what you want me to do to you." With that, he pushed inside of her, eyes nearly watering. Blair gasped, her legs tightening around him, vision going blurry, back slightly arching off the bed. He stopped then, not to see if she needed to wait, but so that _he_ could get a hold of himself. Jesus, he swore he nearly came just by being inside of her.

This would be quick, he decided with an almost regretful groan. It had to be, or else he wouldn't last. Her mouth had just felt so… and she'd teased him… and now _she_ felt….

"I'm not…" she ground out, as audibly as possible, "A _princess_." Blair was surprised with herself, that she was able to form words when he was filling her—_so good! More! _"I'm…" she dug her heels into his back, forcing him in deeper, as deep as he could go, "_A queen_!" Her walls slightly fluttered around him, her hands reaching up to slowly graze his back, nails gently biting into his skin.

He half laughed, half groaned, a choking, gasping sound, all but growling against her porcelain column of a neck. It was _so_ like her to take up an issue, even if the timing was exceptionally inopportune (she picked _now_ to act insulted, when he was buried, so, so deep inside of her that he didn't know where he ended and she began?).

He pulled his hips back from her rocking ones immediately before slamming back inside of her, right to the hilt where he had been before. He adjusted himself so his length, coated in her juices, slid against her bud every time (because there was no time for a slow build up now - he had to get her to come, hard. And _fast_).

"My," he started, stopping to inhale sharply between his teeth, "_My_ queen," he corrected her, "Mine. No one… else's," he whispered faintly. "You don't… scream for… any… me…" Pieces were missing, but the end intent was the same. His pace was increasing - _harder, faster, more_ .

Lights exploded behind Blair's eyes. _God, so good, so good…fuck, more…need more, yes, Chuck…_Her eyes were now stamped shut, brow furrowed as she concentrated on her climax that was rapidly coming—she knew that Chuck was close, based on the way he spoke, his lips worshipping her neck with kisses and—"Yes!" she moaned, his coated length pushing against her throbbing clit while his lips attached to her pulse point where he'd no doubt be leaving a mark. Her skin was humming with pleasure, getting ready for the finale, the fireworks.

"_Nate and I have…_had_ plenty of spark. Better than that—fireworks!"—"That was us." _

Blair held on for dear life as his hips rocked into hers, hitting that spot over and over and over again. Her back arched up off the bed, breasts pushing against his chest, their skin slick as they slid against each other. She was so close…._so fucking close_.

"Yours," her voice was almost strangled as she spoke, "I…only scream…Chuck, yes…" Her words were intermixed with moans, her hips now bucking wilding against his, movements erratic as he plunged into her with wild abandon.

"Come, Blair, please, come!" her body muffled the volume of his exclamation, and he fought to hold on until he felt that tell-tale flood of wetness around his rigid length.

"Oh god…yes…so close…come with me," he thrust his hips against her one, two, three more times before, "_Chuck_!" she cried out, her body taught as a bow as her inner walls clenched around his length tightly, juices spilling against him as she rode out her orgasm, fingernails embedding into his skin as she clutched for her lover, trying to stay grounded as her body was in such a heightened state of passion and pleasure.

"_Love_…," he managed against her neck, the one word all he could handle. His breath was harsh and cutting, getting louder. He lifted his head from the spot it had been nestled in, his whole body pulling into one taut line. His eyes were shut so tightly they might have folded in on themselves, and his teeth gnashed together firmly while the vein in his temple throbbed. Not a third of a second later he followed after while she was still tightening, his pulsing length emptying itself in hot, long-awaited spurts inside of her, hips still moving strongly against hers while he came with a mix of swears, her name, and wordless shouts. Helplessly, he felt his elbows begin to quake with the effort, and he promptly let his right one bend, half-falling onto her, his weight covering her one side, mouth next to her ear.

"I think," he finally spoke, voice raspy. "That this is what we call a truce." He panted against her ear, only the smallest of smirks making itself present on his mouth as he recalled the very serious game they'd embarked on that had somehow resulted in neither one of them being able to last with the other inside of and around them. He finally managed to pull himself out of her completely and to roll his body all the way off hers, but he draped his arm over her petite body and pulled her (as best as he could in his weakened state) closer to him, nose nuzzling her shoulder, his chest still heaving with his breaths, but calming slightly.

Blair's chest rose and fell as she tried to regain normal breathing, her lips slightly cracked open as he inhaled deep labored breaths. "You know," she commented, curling into his side as he wrapped an arm around her, "I should piss you off more often." She let out a soft laugh, her hand slowly traveling up his chest, landing on his left pectoral and gently playing with the dark hairs that lay there.

He laughed, unable to help it, a string of hearty chuckles, when he heard her remark.

"I wouldn't if I were you, Waldorf," he said. "I don't know if you were aware of what just happened," his hands danced up and down her side lightly, reminding her that he knew she was _very_ aware of what had just transpired before his palm was settled against her again. "But I believe the both of us came dangerously close to actually combusting into flames. I don't think a repeat of that would be in our best interests, unless we don't want to live to see a repeat performance." He placed a kiss, gentle, tender, against her hair, the silky locks matted now.

"Maybe _you_ weren't the one aware of what just happened," she shot back, smiling, "but that was the best sex I've had since…" her voice trailed off, eyes looking up, as if she was trying to remember, "This morning." Her smile was now a grin as she burrowed in closer to Chuck, wishing that they could just stay this way for the rest of the day.

She hated knowing that in the next few hours that lay ahead, he'd have to get up and deal with some more business meetings, and she'd have to slip on her clothes (which hopefully weren't ripped—she hadn't exactly been paying attention to her dress when he'd yanked down the zipper) and leave the penthouse. She almost felt like simply staying at Chucks, after all, she'd gone to bed too many nights without him at her side, but she wasn't ready for the world to know yet. She knew that once word got out everything—Gossip Girl, her friends, Manhattan, and everyone else would try to wedge between them and separate them forever.

It'd happened too many times in the past, and that was what she feared most.

She honestly could care less what people thought about their coupling, she just couldn't bear losing him again. It had all been so much easier when it was a game of cat and mouse. Chuck would chase her, then she'd chase him. It was so fun and juvenile. But now, on the cusp of her twentieth birthday, she had to look towards the future with a new perspective. Her life was starting, and she needed to make decisions, and she'd want Chuck to be there when she made them.

"Tomorrow," she said, head angling up to look at him, "After my party, we'll tell Serena, and Nate…I don't care. We'll tell everyone."

"Alright," he said quietly, not even pretending that he was going to put up a fight. He said it nonchalantly, but he could detect the tiniest trace of joy stitched through the word. Briefly, he entertained the idea of asking what _exactly_ they would be breaking to Serena and Nate. They loved each other, still (always, forever), they'd made that abundantly clear to each other. They couldn't keep their hands to themselves, and he would _die _before he let anything happen to her. But what exactly did that all constitute? It was a non-issue, however, he decided; because did he really care? Had he ever really cared? Boyfriend/girlfriend was fine for passing conversation, but after all they'd been through, it seemed they were… more. He didn't care what she labeled them or what society labeled them, so long as he was one half of the label.

She sighed contently, eyes closing as she nestled against him, "Oh, and you're sleeping over tomorrow, by the way."

A smile dusted his lips, so tiny it could hardly be seen, and he replied to lightly. "I'll send a change of clothes over early in the morning, then," he said, index finger traveling up and down the line of her spine with uncanny precision for finding even the smallest of ridges.

Blair slightly shifted her body so that she was more on her stomach than on her side, her hand slipped up into his short brown locks, gently raking her fingers through it.

"It's not like you'll be wearing much clothes anyways, though, they might be useful for later in the day."

He grinned a bit, amending his statement. "For when I _do_ make it out of your penthouse, then," he agreed. "I can't be wearing the same clothes days later."

"Well, if you're not busy, I was thinking dinner at Lion." Tilting her head down slightly, she laid a kiss on his chest, admiring him fully in his post coital glow.

Chuck thought, briefly, of the more important appointment he had tomorrow, along with his meeting with Andrew Tyler that morning. Looking down at her, he realized that he would have to tell her at some point at least _part_ of what was going on. If she found out from anyone but him (this was the Upper East Side - nothing stayed secret for long), and if she found out that he had _known_, it had the potential to be the Empire Fiasco all over again (although, to the slightly lesser, not trading her for a hotel kind of way, though the results could be the same).

It could wait, though.

He pulled his fingers through her locks of hair, nodding his head in agreement. "Dinner at the Lion on your birthday, presumably after spending the day locked away with you," he sighed heavily. "Someone's going to get the impression that I love you, you know," he said gravely.

"Well then I guess they'd be getting the _right_ impression," she hissed, lowering her eyes at him before laying her head back down to his chest and extending her arm to wrap around him. It was settled, she didn't want to move.

Chuck grinned, he was determined to ensure that her birthday went well, better than well. After everything… it was the least he could do. "I'll call Delucie and get us a reservation."

She smiled, nuzzling the tiniest bit closer, "I have such an amazing…" she paused, what was he? Her boyfriend? That title just didn't feel like it fit him. He was more to her than just a boyfriend. But Blair supposed that was the only thing he could be labeled at the moment. However, before continuing, she slightly tense, "_Are_ you my boyfriend?" She asked, almost cautiously.

"I was going to ask you that, actually," he commented, a forced, casual air about his words. He let his hand ghost up and down her body, brushing the sides of her breast, stomach, and hip as he went. "I am," he finally started to answer her inquiry , "Whatever you want me to be. But I am the _only_ one of whatever that is." If she wanted him to be her boyfriend, he would be it - if she wanted _less_ than that, he would bear it. So long as he got to be in her company, and he was the _only_ one that got to be in her company that way, he would be satisfied - more than satisfied, actually, since she decided to grace him with her company. "Is that what you want?" he asked.

The phone next to the bed finally rang and he had to restrain himself from swearing in frustration. His hand flung out and he grabbed it, pressing the button roughly. "Whoever it is, hold them until I say so," he ordered with a snap before hanging up. He wasn't going to allow business to interrupt this conversation.

"Well?" he asked her, a bit more crossly than he'd intended in an attempt to mask his anticipation.

Blair untangled herself from his embrace and sat up, gently biting her bottom lip. "I don't know," she mumbled, eyes landing on the wall. She knew those three words probably were crushing him, and though she hated the thought of that happening, she needed to think. She needed to figure out what they were and where they went from this point in time. What was more than a boyfriend? Fiancé, husband? Blair Bass? Her head was swimming now, thoughts flashing back to the ring she saw in Paris, the ring that Chuck had bought for her, the one she'd given back to him when she told him she no longer loved him. The ring she'd fantasized about seeing on her finger ever since she laid eyes on it…the man she'd fantasized marrying ever since he first told her he loved her.

She swallowed, hard, "You're…not my boyfriend," she said slowly, her words slightly wavering. Her eyes flickered to his, "You're not my lover." She said again, each word that slipped from her lips seemed harsh and splitting, but there was a tender edge, one that she hoped he could sense.

"I don't know what you are, but…" she paused, reaching down and taking his hand in her own, gently playing with his fingers, imagining a ring there, "You're more than either of those things. Whatever the next thing up is, you're there. A _boyfriend _doesn't buy a hotel because his girlfriend believes in him. He doesn't go to Paris and Germany to buy her favorite things. Nor does he let her be with someone else, because he thinks she'll be happier…" her voice trailed off. And she pursed her lips, eyes that had been previously trained on his hand lifting to his eyes, "_I love you_, Chuck."

His mouth opened, but he shut it, instantly at war with himself. Four words - four little words was all he needed to say, and if he said them he could be confident in the answer he would get, since what she had just said constituted as much of a promise as he would ever get. He shouldn't though, he really shouldn't (though he couldn't think of one damn reason why - he was tired of not having any official claim to her). She deserved better than this now, though, didn't she? Fed up with his debate, he simply lifted himself up and grasped her jaw, pulling her in for a firm kiss that would have had even his knees shaking if he were standing up. He broke it eventually, breathing deep, and looking right into her eyes.

"I love _you_, and _only you_, Blair. You were the first person I ever said it to, and you will be the _last_ to hear it. This," he swallowed again, nerves jumping. "Is… forever," he forced the words out, meaning them completely (but meaning and admitting are two different things). "Do you understand what I'm say… do you understand?" he asked.

His words hit her slowly, and she just kept replaying them over and over in her head.

_Love, only you, forever_.

She nodded once, swallowing softly, her voice but a mere whisper when she spoke, "Yes," she said, though soft, her voice was filled with conviction—as if she was more sure about this than she was her own name.

"Yes," she repeated, "Forever." She leaned in, stealing another kiss, this time her free hand curling around the back of his neck and pulling him closer. _Needing_ him closer.

Chuck couldn't describe the euphoria that was surging through him.

One day, when the timing was better, when they weren't a pile of useless limbs and seeking mouths…he would ask her to marry him.

And she would say yes.

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><p><strong>AN: So...what do you think? Excited for what's in store for our favorite pair? Curious as to what will happen at her party and beyond? Want more of them? REVIEW! Let us know! But actually...please review. ;)**


	12. Happy Birthday, B

**A/N: B and C actually worked on the entirety of this chapter together for once. So, consider that our excuse for why it took so long (and really, blame C. Lazy, lazy C whose Microsoft Word likes to eat chapter bits). That said, we like this chapter quite a bit since it has fluff, smut (of course), and NJBC, so we hope you enjoy it as much as we do!**

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><p>"Nate," Chuck greeted his best friend. He must have come back while he was downstairs with his meeting. "Getting your fill of comfort after the breakup?" he inquired, pouring himself a small amount of scotch (small by his standards, anyway).<p>

Nate snorted a laugh._"_I think I had all the fill I could handle this summer," he admitted and Chuck smirked knowingly into his glass. Amateur. "Listen man, I gotta ask… is something going on between you and Blair?"

Chuck didn't say anything for a moment, he simply stared into his glass. "Why would you ask that?"

He heard a heavy sigh. "Look, one day you're drawing up plans on the coffee table with about fifty steps on how to destroy her, then you're glued to her side while she's in a hospital bed, pouring pain medication down her throat and spending the night. I know you weren't home last night, either."

Chuck fixed him with a burning stare. "It's touching, Nathaniel, how you keep track of my whereabouts so closely." The reminder of his sudden disappearance this summer lingered in the air, but he charged on. "But Blair is my friend," the lie was stale on his tongue. "As much as her actions injured me at the time, she's much more valuable to me if she's alive, well, and able to scheme _with_ me rather than against me. And someone almost took that away from me," he said, his voice hard. "Considering how she wouldn't have even been leaving unless I'd been there, I feel partly responsible for the fact that she had a bruise the size of this island on her ribs and has to deal with those infernal death traps called crutches. So yes, I spent the night with her, but I'll be in my room tonight, starting now. If you'll excuse me."

With that, he retired to his room for the rest of the evening, leaving Nate to ponder exactly _how_ Chuck was aware of the bruising Blair had endured.

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><p>November 9th. The day before Blair's birthday. The day that Chuck must deliver money to Blair's attacker. The day that would ultimately determine the rest of Blair's life…and she had no idea that it was happening.<p>

The day of her party was probably one of the slowest days of Chuck's life.

Time had a way of dragging when she wasn't around to share it with.

The day had started with him clad in his purple paisley robe, sipping from a small cup of espresso, and surveying the view from his window with a surly expression. Nate had left earlier, the two of them having been engaged in a miffed silence after their curt exchanges the night before.

It would pass, it always did - at the very least, Nate would understand once he realized that Chuck couldn't say anything for fear of incurring Blair's wrath. It didn't matter that she was tiny, it was the day of her birthday party, and she was Blair Waldorf. She ordered that she get her way all the time, but especially on days that were specifically meant to revolve around her. If Chuck let it slip to Nate even in the most subtle way, if it got out to Blair she'd still launch herself at him, and not in a way he wanted.

It was the Gossip Girl blast that pulled him from his simmering, the picture of Blair outside of her jeweler's along with a remark by Gossip Girl about her continuing her birthday traditions. He was wondering what time she'd get around to that, and having more or less cleared his schedule (apart from a trip to The Palace to take part in interviews for the new head chef), he decided that now was as good of a time as any to get started with his day.

It was only when he spotted a small, yet still sizable bag in the corner of his room that his mood went chillingly south. He had been trying to forget about his task later, like forgetting it would simply make it go away. Before he left his room, he snatched the bag from the floor and carried it with him down through the lobby, stowing it in his limo as he instructed Arthur to drive to the jeweler's. He didn't know how long any of this would take, and he wasn't taking any chances that he would be struggling for time after having to traipse across to the west side after interviews on the east. Within half an hour, the door was being held open for him at her favorite jeweler's. He gave the doorman a nod before venturing in further.

"I'm here to inquire about some pieces that were put on hold under the name Blair Waldorf," he said smoothly to the nearest person behind one of the many counters. They looked at him, suspicion hardly veiled under their carefully trained features. "I'm Chuck Bass," he added by way of persuasion.

The hardest part, he decided, was trying to pick out the piece that she would covet the most. The fact that she had put them on hold meant that she wanted them, but what was the one she had _really_ wanted…. Well, if he wasn't going to get the answer the easy way….

"I'll take the necklace and the bracelet." He gave a look that confirmed that he had indeed meant 'and'.

One for tonight, so he wouldn't show up empty handed, and the other for tomorrow at dinner, on her real birthday, when it was just the two of them. That left Eleanor a present if she chose to come here, and as far as he knew Serena always gave Blair a gift from somewhere else (or if she didn't, she did now, and he would handle her incredulous fury at a different time). He took the package when it was given to him and exited as stealthily and swiftly as possible - if Gossip Girl saw him leaving, she would have a field day with speculations. The Palace was next, and he spent the next few hours listening to painless, yet repetitive interviews (there were only so many ways fois gras could be prepared to make it 'unique, groundbreaking, out of zis world', in his opinion).

He checked the time on his phone as he left, the cement of the sidewalk dropping out from under him when he saw it was 4:30. Bastards, all of them, he seethed as he ripped through the crowd. He'd boil them in their own pots if their explanations of duck liver caused him to be late.

"Arthur, uptown. 72nd street entrance to the park," he said, not even bothering to wait for the man to step around and open the door for him.

Although it was late in the afternoon, the park was still bustling with a fair amount of people. Small children were paraded by nannies in sweats (such lack of class) around the pond, and dogs eagerly tugged at their leashes in an attempt to leap over the short stone wall and join the ducks in the water. The statue area, however, was empty. Apparently, Hans Christian Anderson was less of an attraction than Alice in Wonderland.

Sharp eyes flickered back and forth in the area, but he couldn't find anyone who looked like they were there to retrieve the bag. He unceremoniously dropped the bag next to the statue, and when a last sweeping gaze revealed nothing, he turned and left.

It was done, he thought as he got into his limo and he began the return home to get ready for Blair's party. It was done.

* * *

><p>It was almost an hour into her party and Chuck still hadn't arrived. Of course, she knew he was going to, but she wanted him there sooner—mostly because she couldn't stand the majority of the people she'd invited. She sauntered around her full penthouse greeting people and making small talk (just as a good hostess does), and would every once in awhile turn towards the elevator in hopes of seeing Chuck step through the large metal doors. However, as the hour dragged on, she was unhappily greeted with the presence of Dan Humphrey, didn't he know that he was only invited out of pity and wasn't actually supposed to show up?<p>

"Humphrey," she greeted, "What are you doing here?" Her voice was icy and sharp, yet a fake smile graced her lips.

"Blair, always a pleasure, and unless I'm mistaken I'm—uh, I'm pretty sure you invited me."

She rolled her eyes, "Yes, I was being polite, I didn't actually expect you to come!" As soon as he opened his mouth to respond, she held out her hand to stop him from speaking, and headed over to where she saw Nate.

She made a bee-line for him and grabbed his arm, gently patting it, "Nate, come on I need a drink," she began to pull him away, but he stopped her.

"Yeah, the bar is right here we could just—"

She interrupted him with another light swat of his arm, "Yeah, well, screw the bar, we keep the good stuff in the kitchen, come on."

As Blair pulled him towards the swinging door of the kitchen, one of the caterers exited, and gave them the sight of Colin and Juliet talking to each other. The conversation was hushed and heated, and it bothered both Blair and Nate for different reasons. Nate because he thought it was the man that Juliet had left him for, and Blair because she loved Serena and didn't want her getting hurt by another womanizer.

She decided that she needed to find her blonde-haired friend before this Colin guy got to her—obviously Nate wasn't a very good buffer. However, Serena was nowhere to be found. She searched the party twice with no sign of her (and someone like Serena was kind of hard to miss). Blair did, however, find Rufus and Lily, who were looking like the perfect couple.

She approached them with a smile, "Lily, Rufus, so glad you could make it," her attention, however, was immediately pulled away when she heard the telltale sound of expensive Italian shoes scuffing the floor.

"Well thank you for inviting us Blair, the penthouse looks delightful!"

She just nodded in response, watching out of the corner of her eye as Chuck crossed the room towards her, "If you'll excuse me."

Blair turned, meeting him halfway, eyes sparkling.

"Blair," he uttered her name as greeting, announcing his presence. His eyes were dancing, and he did a subtle sweep of her body. She'd chosen well, he thought as he took in the dress around her figure. Mind, not well enough for him to let her keep it on any later than necessary.

"Chuck."

With a devious glint, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, lingering just a fraction longer than he needed to, the scent of her pulling him in for a moment. He pulled back, smirk still in place.

"Happy birthday," he said in a hushed voice. "It's a fine party, and I feel I should thank you for the last minute invitation," mirth shone in his eyes while his voice remained flat. "I truly wasn't expecting it."

"That's what friends, or at least temporary allies, are for, right? If you want to thank me _properly_…" she practically purred, reaching up and slightly centering his bow tie (not that it was anything far from perfect already), "You can meet me up stairs in five minutes."

Her voice was nothing above a whisper, she knew that there were several sets of eyes on them, wondering what they were saying, and what Chuck Bass was even doing at Blair's party if he had declared war on her. She slowly began to back away from him, and go about the party, eyes flickering back to Chuck every few seconds before she quickly made her way upstairs, trying not to pull much attention.

Exactly five minutes later (though it felt like so much longer), Chuck's silhouette appeared at the top of the stairs, and but a moment later his hands were gently framing her face and bringing her close for a fiery kiss.

"You look _stunning_," he whispered against her mouth when he broke the kiss, only to initiate another one. "If you didn't have a room full of guests downstairs, I'd make you scream right here," he husked, the sincerity of those words slicing through the small amount of air that was between them. "Although that never did stop me before," he mused thoughtfully, smiling wickedly.

They kissed until they were practically breathless, and Blair felt a rush of heat flood to her center, but she shook her head in response.

"Don't you dare, Chuck," she responded, allowing her hands to slip around his neck and gently rake through the hair at his nape,

Slowly, very slowly, he backed her against the wall."What's the matter, Waldorf?" he taunted, nothing but danger in his voice while his one hand crept higher up her side, grazing past her stomach until it was resting at the swell of her breast. "Afraid you won't be able to stop yourself from yelling my name and scandalizing all of those guests who are _so convinced_ you're such a lady?" he asked.

"If you give us away," she leaned in to steal a kiss, "Then you won't be getting any of this," her hips rubbed against his own, "For a _month_."

"That's not funny, Blair," he said, almost reproachfully. "Don't pretend you wouldn't be driven insane without me," he continued, veering onto a path that was less humiliating for him. "Your fingers are wonderful, but I happen to know you prefer mine instead," he husked, his tongue coating each word with arousal.

"And…" he began, swiftly changing the subject, "You're not using crutches," he noted, soft tones of delight coloring his voice while he allowed his hands to fall on her hips, pulling her closer.

"Very astute, Bass." She whispered, her mouth gently licking and biting up to his ear then across his jaw. She grinned when he groaned—_wait, that wasn't Chuck_. Blair lifted her head and scanned the hall, focusing on the male voice she'd heard. However, when it wasn't repeated, she immediately forgot about it and closed the space between her and Chuck, stealing as many kisses as she could before she'd have to return to her party. She knew she wanted to act more ladylike, but after all, she was still nineteen.

Chuck let his hand wander her body, stroking her hips, her thighs, her stomach, her breasts, anywhere he could get to, before he stepped closer, pushing his growing arousal into her and letting his hand drop to her ass to pull her against him. He dropped his mouth to a spot on her neck, grazing it with his teeth and inhaling the traces of champagne and perfume.

"C-Colin…"

Wait, _what?_ Chuck pulled back instantly, narrowing his gaze immensely. He opened his mouth but stopped when he heard it again, throwing a glance down the hall, his expression instantly turning inquisitive. He looked down at her.

"Either I'm hearing things, or my dear sister is… entertaining someone," he said quietly.

Blair gently pushed Chuck away, a glare set on the closed door to Serena's room. "I can't believe her!" She spoke in a hushed whisper, "Getting it on at my party!" She practically stomped over to it, knocking three times.

"Serena!" She hissed, listening carefully for the telltale sounds of her best friend rushing to the door. A few moments later Serena opened the door with innocent eyes, her yellow dress slightly crumpled, hair messier than usual, and pulled out of its braid.

"What's up, B?"

Blair could have smacked her, "What do you think you're doing? There is a party downstairs, _my party_! And you're up here getting busy with a _teacher_, a _cheating teacher_, as in cheating with Juliet." Her eyes landed on Colin who was sheepishly dressing in the corner, "Don't pretend like I didn't see that, _professor_."

Serena opened her mouth as if to explain, then eyed Chuck who was standing behind Blair. Her eyes then inspected the brunette, skin flushed, lips swollen, "You're such a hypocrite. Really, Chuck, _again_? How many times is he going to have to hurt you before you realize who he is?"

Blair didn't even bother answering, instead she simply stated, "You may think that you're better than me, Serena, but at least I have class."

With that, she turned and descended the stairs, she didn't feel like talking to anyone at that moment, she was angry, and it was her birthday party damn it! She seemed to get back to the party just in time, too, because there was an unfamiliar voice calling for the "birthday girl".

Blair immediately stepped into the main room, where the television was set up with a slideshow of pictures of Blair and friends, which was currently on a picture of her and Dorota at her maid's wedding. With furrowed brows, she stepped forward.

"Yes?"

The blonde stranger squealed excitedly and then began speaking, "Let me take you back, to a summer night in Stockholm, to an after party for one of Robyn's shows." She then turned to towards the TV and pressed a button on the clicker.

Blair racked her brain, trying to remember what she was talking about, when all of a sudden, her worst nightmare came true. An image of her, singing _Stand by your man_ incredibly off-key, drunk, and holding a champagne flute appeared on the screen_. No, no, no, this cannot be happening_. She immediately rushed forward, knocking over a caterer, who in turn pushed someone else over. All eyes were on her, and she had nowhere to hide.

Chuck stepped entered the room a second after Blair, his mouth set in a grim line as he looked at the slightly grainy film on screen, watching his then-girlfriend sing her heart out on stage, completely and deliriously drunk. _That's enough_, he decided.

"Tell them to stop the tape. Now," he hissed to a passing waiter, sending towards the front of the room.

He wove his way through the crowd then and upon reaching her grabbed her elbow. "If you're going to use my best ammunition, Waldorf, it would be courteous to tell me in advance." The words were snapped for effect, but he squeezed her arm reassuringly for only her to know as he steered her towards a more secluded area where fewer eyes could find her.

Her eyes met his for a moment and she understood, before responding, "Right, Bass, you'd be the first one I would tell." Her words were hissed, and overall sarcastic, her eyes darting out to the swarm of people. As she moved away with Chuck, she passed Dorota and quickly commanded, "Do something!" in a hushed voice. Finally when she was away from all the prying eyes, she let out a sigh, and grabbed a champagne flute from a passing caterer and downed the entire glass.

"Please tell me that didn't just happen," she groaned, setting the empty champagne flute on the table and turning towards Chuck.

"That didn't just happen," he said automatically. "However, I think we're both aware by now that by avoiding the issues we aren't going to solve them."

"Who even knew about it besides you and Serena?" She screeched, eyes landing on the few people who dared the round the corner to watch Blair fall apart, Dan Humphrey coming to stand before her and Chuck.

"I did," he said smugly, hand shoved in his pockets, eyes looking right into Blair's—no regret, no guilt.

"_You?_" Chuck hissed, his glare burning

"What?" She yelled, fury bubbling behind her eyes.

Dan simply nodded, "My sister was a different person before she met you. She's afraid to come home—to visit her parents on their anniversary. It's gotten out of hand, so when I got an anonymous tip about this video…." He nodded to the screen. "I figured it was the least I could do to take care of my sister."

Nate came up from behind him, brow furrowed, now standing by Chuck and Blair, "Come on dude, this isn't about Jenny, this is about revenge."

Dan faltered now, "Whatever, these two deserve exactly what comes to them. They're sick and twisted and sell each other for hotels and then just end up getting back together."

Chuck took a step forward the minute the word 'hotels' left that overproducing mouth, but a hand on his elbow - Nate - refrained him from taking action. As far as he was concerned, no one, _no one,_ was allowed to talk about what happened with the Empire last Spring, not unless their names were Blair or Chuck.

Nate turned to Chuck, "Wait, I thought you two were just in a cease-fire?" He asked, curiosity marring his features, until Dan interrupted.

"Really? A cease-fire? Would that happen to involve making-out because that's what I walked in on this morning."

Chuck hadn't actually thought he'd had it in him to let such a gossip bomb drop, least of all in such a setting where it was sure to cause scandal. He'd be impressed if he didn't absolutely loathe him in that moment. He'd _ruined_ Blair's party. He had a flashback to his sixteen-year-old self who was equally ticked-off with Nate for not showing up and causing her such grief on her birthday.

"Don't _talk_ about what you don't understand, Brooklyn!" Chuck barked the words sharply before his features morphed into a sarcastic smirk. "Oh wait, I forgot, you'd understand sick and twisted better than anyone, wouldn't you? Sleeping with a girl when you share a sibling. When we say we like to keep things in the family in this part of town, we don't mean it quite that literally."

Never in Blair Waldorf's life had she wanted to kill someone as much as Dan Humphrey at this very moment. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, knuckles turning white as her fingernails dug into her palms.

Rufus then stepped into the picture, "Dan, what are you doing?" He asked, complete and utter disappointment riddled on his features. Chuck scoffed under his breath as Rufus made himself known - exactly what the situation needed, more _flannel._ This was when Dan's expression changed from smug to embarrassed, and Blair went in for the kill-after all, while you can't tear a page from your life, you can always throw the whole book in the fire.

"Congratulations Rufus," she said, pivoting towards him, "Your son just publicly humiliated someone at a high society party, no doubt bumping him up on the social hierarchy scale, just for the hell of it. Seems like your marriage is working wonders for your kids. Tell me, how is Jenny?" Her eyes than landed on Dan, "I hope you're having fun, because you just declared war. Not on Blair Waldorf, not on Chuck Bass, but on us." She spat, grabbing Chuck's hand, "I suggest you start packing because you're well on your way to being exiled, and then who will you turn to? Your 'best friend' Vanessa who you're too blind to see is in love with you, or your ex-girlfriend Serena who only dated you because she felt bad for you." Her attention was now directed to the rest of the crowd, "Yes, Chuck and I are back together. If you don't like it, then you can feel free to leave, the elevator is through the foyer."

Chuck adjusted himself so he was standing closer to her, making it clear that they were a team in this - the devil and his queen who were perfectly capable of making anyone's life a living hell. The array of expressions he saw in the crowd wasn't surprising. Most people were whispering, more were shoved nose first into their phones, no doubt recounting their versions of the story to Gossip Girl who would put together an epic post regarding this news. Some were simply staring at them as if they could hardly get over this - it had seemed to them that they only just declared war on each other- while others still were looking a bit uncomfortable (he was specifically choosing to ignore the sharp look he was receiving from Eleanor). He unwound his hand from hers, instead looping his arm around her waist and he leaned in to her ear.

"Come on," he said, "I think this party's just about over, and I know you keep the stronger stuff in the kitchen," he murmured. He glanced behind to Nate and gave him a look that said he could follow if he wished or he could continue to mingle with the rest of the crowd.

Planting herself at the kitchen counter, she buried her head in her hands, silently cursing when she heard her phone buzz. She knew that New York was laughing at her, she knew that people were losing respect for her, and she knew that there was no way she would be giving up the crown just because some Brooklyn boy's father married Lily van der Woodsen and got trigger-happy. There were still a few caterers awkwardly standing in the kitchen, unsure of what to do, they had no doubt heard the squabble that took place in the hall, but right now they were the least of her concerns.

"Get out," she barked, lifting her head for a moment to spare a glance at them before returning her head to its previous position. Her mind swam with anger and embarrassment and then she remembered who was standing right next to her. Slowly, she lifted her head from her hands and turned to look at Chuck.

"You know what? I don't care," she heaved a deep breath, and repeated it, as if to reassure herself. "I don't care. I have you, that's all I need." She reached over and pulled him down for a quick kiss. "And it's still my birthday party." She stood up, "No one cares about what Dan Humphrey thinks anyways."

"You're right," he agreed. "No one cares what Humphrey thinks, he's even newer money than me, and if Lily were to divorce that husband his access to that money would be cut off and he'd be back across the bridge. He carries no long-term weight." He paused, his lips pressing together as he contemplated the best way to put his next point.

"However," he began quietly, "I think that Humphrey's exhibition tonight gives you a general idea of how people are going to react." He lifted a hand and brushed some of her dark hair away from the side of her face, allowing his fingers to rake through her hair then and cup the back of her head. He genuinely hated himself for what he was saying. "If you think… that you might not want to…" he couldn't even get it all out, every attempt seemed wrong, heavy in his throat. "I want you happy," he finally said. "That's all I've ever wanted for you."

Blair pulled away from his hand as if burned, her eyes searching his for any clue that he had been joking.

"Blair…" he sighed.

"What are you saying?" She asked, voice shrill, "You want me to leave you? What happened to forever?" She felt sick to her stomach. Lost between sad and confused. The next words she spat, "How could you even suggest that?"

"I meant forever," he said, gently gripping her upper-arms, eyes staring straight into hers. "I will _always_ mean forever," he swallowed thickly. "I'm going to… ask you… to marry me," he managed to get the words out, finding them heavy and strange on his tongue. He'd never actually gotten that far around her. "You're going to say yes," he smirked very softly. "We're going to have the largest wedding that society has ever seen. We'll live wherever you want, except one of the outer-boroughs," as if that had even been an option, "And we'll be a… family. However large or small of one you want." His grip on her had tightened immensely for his own support and he worked to loosen it slightly - it went against years and years of training for him to say this, and he feared his body might be revolting from the shock of it all.

"You're Blair Waldorf, though," he whispered now, leaning in and kissing the edge of her jaw very softly. "And you will always deserve… _better_ than some billionaire who has hurt you so many times," Serena's words from the hallway echoed harshly in his head, apparently more under his skin than he realized. "Who somehow managed to stumble his way into another chance with you when he never thought it was possible. You deserve someone who can get it right the first time, someone who wouldn't make you upset. Someone who you can take to parties without having to wait for years to pass before his reputation begins to fade." He let go of her hands, and gently lifted them to cup the sides of her face, forcing her to look at him.

"I'm always going to be aware of that. And if _that_ were what made you happy…" he couldn't finish the sentence - one try at that tonight was enough for a lifetime. "Had you given even the slightest clue that you might, however," he continued. "I promise you I wouldn't have taken it anywhere near well. I would be on my knees right now, that I can guarantee you," he said, nothing but sincerity in his words. "Because I love you, and if I lost you again, I don't…" he shook his head slowly, pressing his forehead into hers and breathing deeply.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Allowing his words to sink in. However, Blair was first to pull back. Speechless. Lost to words at his admission.

The day before, they'd said forever.

Today, they were proving it.

"I don't want anyone else, Chuck. I love _you_, and…we're gonna do it right this time." She slipped her arms around his neck as his hands fell from her face to her waist, pulling him closer, "People will get over us, like they did before. It might take them longer, but that's life." She paused for a moment, swallowing thickly.

"All I know is that I would die if I saw you with someone else. You _belong_ with _me_." The last few words were hissed as she gripped him to her, images of Eva flashing through her mind.

He squeezed her tighter and closed his eyes, mind reeling. He knew perfectly well that he was capable of messing them up, even if he didn't mean to, even when it broke his heart. He was actually… scared (though Chuck Bass would never admit to being scared) that he would do it again when he was least expecting. He was determined not to, however, even if it meant locking himself away for a week when Jack was in town again (which he inevitably would be, the slimy bastard couldn't stay away) to prevent himself from slipping up with anything.

"Possessive, hmm?" he murmured, tipping her chin up and nabbing a kiss, sucking lightly on her bottom lip while his tongue ran over it. "I thought that was my job." He kissed her chin, jaw, ear, and then whispered, "But I like it," to her, his teeth nipping at a spot just under her ear before he flicked the spot with his tongue.

He turned serious, though, even as his mouth made itself at home along the column of her neck.

"I never want to see you with anyone else. Ever. Even when we aren't together, even when I'm supposed to _hate_ you…. You don't belong with anyone else, and neither do I."

He kissed her full on the mouth then, sliding his tongue past her lips and invading her mouth, claiming it as his to explore, his to make moan, his to hear scream endlessly in the night (day, afternoon, and every hour in between). He groaned, tangling a hand in her hair as he pulled her closer - a whole day was _far_ too long for them - but he forced himself to stop when it became apparent that they both needed to breathe.

"You have a present waiting for you," he whispered, breathing ragged and he pressed quick kisses to her temples, cheeks, and jaw. "I think you'll like it. Almost as much as if you'd picked it out yourself," he smirked, tugging lightly at her lip with his teeth.

"Does it come wrapped in an Armani suit?" Blair whispered, rubbing herself against him. Eyes glinting with mischief as her hand wandered down his front.

Swallowing tightly he fisted his hand in her dress, drawing the material a little higher up her leg. "If you don't behave I'll take you right here," he warned her, his voice dead serious. "A desperate _fuck_ in the kitchen," he hissed. "Not quite what a lady would do, is it?" he whispered. Then again, not every lady was Blair Waldorf - she was allowed to bend the rules a little, and if she was going to be his wife one day, that basically came with the territory.

She allowed her hand to slip over the crotch of his pants, gently caressing while a low hiss sounded from between his teeth.

"No, that's definitely _not_ something a lady would do," she whispered throatily, "but the Blair Waldorf you want isn't a lady, is she?"

She leaned forward and captured his lips in a heated kiss for a few moments before pulling back, seemingly more intoxicated than before.

"If Dorota, my mother, Nate, and Serena weren't in the other room, I'd beg you to take me over and over." Her voice was soft, but needy as she once again moved forward to suckle on his neck, right under his ear, her tongue darting out to taste his skin.

He extended his fingers and gathered more of her dress in his hand, pushing it higher and higher until the hem reached his hand.

"You want that anyway," he said, his voice quiet and knowing. He closed his eyes when she latched onto his neck, groaning softly. "You know they know better than to interrupt us," he continued, his voice tight as she attended to the expanse of his neck. His fingers curled so they fell under her dress now, the material covering his hand like drapes while he found the uncovered portion of her thigh, gripping a garter in approval when he countered the flimsy material.

"Chuck," she purred against him, gently rubbing her body against his as she continued her assault on his neck. "You smell so good," she complimented, getting frustrated when his shirt collar hindered her from continuing her lips' path down his flesh—instead she just went back up and across his jaw, nipping gently at the harsh angle.

"You know…." He swallowed hard, losing his ability to speak momentarily. Bereft of words, he groaned at her compliment while plucking hard at one of the supports that held her filmy black stockings up. He was satisfied when it gave way. "You know they wouldn't dare come in here, and this whole time I would be making you_ come_ and they wouldn't have a clue."

He was straining in his pants now, desperate for her, eager to be buried in her slick warmth. He moved from her thigh to between her legs, deftly maneuvering his fingers past the barrier covering her entrance and touching her. He thought he died when he felt how wet she was. It was like he snapped then - he needed her. He reached for his waist, finding the buckle on his belt and quickly undoing it, the button and zipper following.

"Don't scream, or they'll know," he whispered, lifting quickly and setting her so she was sitting on the counter. "Don't make a sound. I have all night to make you scream after this," he promised. It wouldn't be very slow, nor very loving. It would be fast, dirty, he knew that even as he pulled his throbbing length from its confines and impatiently yanked her panties to the side, a small ripping sound filling the air. But he had all night to make it up to her, he just… needed her. He positioned himself at her sopping entrance, and seconds later he grit his teeth while he pushed slowly, slowly, slowly inside of her, his eyes burning and fingers stiff.

Blair bit her lip harshly, trying to not make any noise (a real challenge when Chuck was inside of her), her legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him in deeper.

As soon as he was buried to the hilt, she slanted her mouth over his own, hoping that he could do a better job a shutting her up than she was doing herself. Her hands immediately raked though his short hair, tousling it for good measure, her hips bucking against his. She wanted more, needed some release from all the frustration that had accumulated inside of her.

He withdrew from her depths before plunging back in with a recklessly hard thrust, swallowing back a grunt when a frisson of hot energy licked its way up his spine. There was nothing poetic or measured about the way he was driving into her - this was sex, a good fuck, pure and simple, a way for both of them to release tension after the past twenty-four hours. Again and again he thrust into her, marveling at how she engulfed his needy length completely inside of her tight little body. _So_ good….

When breathing became an issue she pulled back, slightly panting, trailing kisses across his jaw to his ear, "More." she choked out, demandingly, her hold on him tightening slightly, walls gently clenching around his rigid length.

"Say 'please', Waldorf," he panted. The smarm that was meant to coat the words, however, was ruined when his breath hitched slightly. Nevertheless, he gave into her demand; he swallowed hard while bending just a tiny amount at the knees and changing his angle so he _knew_ he would hit that sensitive spot that drove her absolutely insane.

His name fell from her lips, head tipping back as her body coiled around him, wanting him closer, frustrated that she couldn't feel his bare skin. She fought to keep her noise to a minimum, worrying her bottom lip until it was practically raw before she leaned forward and found purchase at Chuck's neck, his skin muffling her little cries as their bodies collided over and over. She was close, and she was sure that Chuck knew it. But then again, this hadn't been about making love until the sun came up; this was quick and hard, meant simply for a release. Blair's body felt weightless, the alcohol and pleasure making her skin hum, her most inner walls slowly getting tighter each time he entered her. She rocked her hips against him in time with his movement, only vaguely aware of the soft whimpers leaving her lips. Then again, she didn't really care, she just needed release and he was so—_ooh!_

"Blair, you're _so_…" his almost pained whisper didn't get finished, the sheer awe he felt for her leaking into the air without words. The hand that still held her hair captive pushed it back so his mouth could fall to just below her ear, then her ear itself, her temple, anywhere it could find. "Perfect," he almost didn't hear himself with how quietly he whispered it against her skin. He bit back a groan when a particularly strong wave tore through him. "You're _perfect,_" he whispered, an uncontrolled energy behind his movements now.

She could taste the salt and scotch on his skin, whether he knew it or not, that was his own unique taste, and it was all hers. Her teeth dragged over his skin in a hot trail, her lips suckling on his pulse point as she tried to get him closer. She was ready to explode, but she wasn't going anywhere without him.

"Yes, _Chuck_," she urged him on, her words slightly drowned out as she continued her assault on his neck, only pulling back to whisper softly in his ear, "I love you." Her nails dug into the shoulders of his suit as she felt herself about to tip over the edge. _So close, so close, yes Chuck, yes_... "Make me come," she demanded more harshly, her heels pushing into his lower back as she moved against him.

He withdrew his hand from her chestnut locks, knuckles stiff, and let his palm press into her stomach while his thumb dipped below, over the excessive material of her dress and onto her clit, rubbing the tiny nub in fast circles. He almost didn't care anymore; didn't care if she screamed, didn't care if he couldn't hold the pure ecstasy he was reeling in while he pressed into her again and again, closer now with the delicious way her heels were digging into him. Because he _loved _her, and she loved him, and he had every right to _love_ her this way anytime they damn well pleased, anywhere they wanted to, especially on her birthday. He bit down hard on his lip, brow beginning to furrow with effort and concentration. Searing ropes were running through his body, tightening every part of him, and he gasped for air momentarily.

"Now," he rasped the order sharply, thumb still working in furious circles around the wet bundle of nerves. His hips continued to push against hers, even when he felt himself starting to let go inside of her. "Now, Blair, come… for me… _now._"

Blair arched her back and moaned-the combination of his thumb working her clit, and the furious pace at which he drove inside of her making her wild with ecstasy. The second that the sound left her mouth she regretted it, but, could anyone blame her? Wanting to avoid anymore slips, she pressed her mouth against his shoulder, riding out the last waves of passion before her orgasm was hitting her, and she was crying out against his shoulder.

Once the fog cleared Blair sat up, holding onto him so she didn't fall over, before smacking him on the shoulder.

"Damn it, Chuck!" She hissed, slightly winded "You ripped my brand new La Perlas before even seeing them!"

He smirked when her words sunk in and he nodded once. "Worth it," he husked, kissing her quickly. "I'll buy you ten more if you like them that much," he muttered against her mouth before breaking the kiss properly. "But as much as I adore seeing you in them, we both know that I prefer this," he drawled the word while he toyed with the scrap of fabric, "To having even so much as a tissue on you."

A pout formed on Blair's lips as he spoke, and she leaned forward, kissing him gently, "Normally I wouldn't care," she whispered, hands gently cupping the back of his neck, "But I bought them for _you_."

He stroked her jawline tenderly when she whispered her reply, eyes going soft for just a moment. "And I enjoyed them _very_ much," he assured her. "Their existence was not wasted."

She shifted herself slightly on the stool, scrunching her nose at the discomfort when she found her thighs covered in their juices. "I can't believe we just did that," it had just really hit her, and she slightly shook her head, "See what you do to me?"

"Don't act so scandalized," he murmured, kissing her forehead lazily. "That was just as much on you as it was on me. I _know_ you enjoyed it," he chuckled quietly. "Or was that someone else with me just now?" he whispered.

Feeling his muscles start to solidify again, he reluctantly withdrew from her warmth, his distaste evident on his face momentarily before he began to right his clothes. "We should make our graceful exit," he said. "And get your _real_ present," he added before grinning cheekily. "Not that that wasn't enough of a present…."

Blair nearly groaned at the loss of contact, before shimmying off the stool and trying to straighten out her dress. Of course she knew while her ripped panties and removed garters were out of sight, her flushed face and imperfect hair were dead giveaways, especially when Chuck and Blair were paired with being alone in a room together for more than a couple minutes. Clearing her throat, she stuck her chin up, and began to move past him.

"Well," she started, stepping in front of him and heading towards the door, "Ladies first." _Hardly_, she thought, almost rolling her eyes. After that she could barely even consider herself a lady—_sex in the kitchen?_ She was sure there were many reasons as to why that had been a bad idea; none however, were coming to mind at the moment. After pushing through the kitchen door she came to find Dorota rushing around picking up empty champagne flutes and other pieces of garbage that the partygoers had left around.

"Miss Blair," she greeted, looking up momentarily to acknowledge her presence.

"Dorota," she responded, eyes searching the room, "Where is my mother?"

The maid now stopped was she was doing and looked up at her, "Miss Eleanor went to bed."

"And Nate?"

"Upstairs with Serena."

"My gifts?"

"In your room, Miss Blair."

Nodding slowly, Blair turned around to face Chuck before ascending the stairs. She guessed time with the Non-judging breakfast club would be well spent, assuming Serena wasn't mad at her. After all, it was still Blair's birthday, and there was plenty of cake and champagne to go around. Chuck met Blair's eyes before wordlessly following her up the stairs, his eyes on her backside the entire time with an unrepentant look on his face.

"Time to face part one of the Spanish Inquisition," Chuck commented under his breath.

The feel of Chuck's hand settling on her lower back made Blair feel more secure as she pushed through the door to her bedroom, greeted by Nate and Serena. Her best friend was sitting on the end of her bed while Nate himself was perched at her desk. Blair immediately put her walls up, ready to block any attacks that may come her way, face hard and showing no sign of weakness. Surprisingly, however, they didn't come off as aggressive.

"Serena…Nate," she greeted, eyes landing on each of them before venturing further into her room.

Chuck hung back slightly, letting his hand leave her back and it went to his pocket while he surveyed the scene before him with a surly expression, eyes sharp and tongue ready.

"Blair," Serena started, standing up and meeting her friend halfway, hands slightly threading together in front of her. "Nate and I have been talking, and…" she was interrupted by Blair—the brunette holding her hand out in front of her as if to stop Serena.

"If you're going to ramble on about how Chuck and I don't belong together then you can save it," she snapped, eyes dark.

Serena, however, continued, "We support you."

Chuck simply blinked for a moment, trying to keep the shock from his face. He looked at her carefully, trying to find any catch or double meaning with the explanation she was offering them, but it seemed, more or less, to be straight forward.

Blair couldn't believe what she was hearing. The two of them weren't pissed? She supposed she should be more happy than surprised, but either way it was something positive that had happened today (probably the _only_ thing positive—besides of course Chuck himself).

Serena didn't stop there, and added onto her statement, "Us four, we're the non-judging breakfast club. We stand by each other through everything—whether it's dating a teacher or dating…Chuck."

He smirked when she reluctantly said his name, taking a small amount of satisfaction in it. He turned his attention to Nate next, the mellow voice soothing the room and making it truly possible to believe that perhaps this wasn't that big of a deal.

"Yeah, I mean you guys stuck by my side through my dad's issues…I don't really think you two getting back together is such a big deal, I mean, we kinda figured it would happen anyways." They nodded in unison now, eyes searching for any sort of agreement with what they were saying.

"Okay…" Blair got out, her demeanor completely changed now, "So, Serena, you'd understand if I asked you to find somewhere else to sleep tonight?"

The blonde's eyes widened, "Why would you…" she trailed off, looking between the two of them, reality hitting her, "_Oh_. Ew, B!" The two of them laughed now, earlier squabbles forgotten, the clock dangerously close to striking twelve and making Blair officially twenty years old.

Chuck smiled darkly as the two of them erupted in laughter, exchanging a look with Nate in the process. The blue-eyed man grimaced slightly but gave Chuck the grin every man got from his best friend when one, or both of them, was about to get extremely… happy.

"Archibald," he addressed him, "You might want to dig out the ear plugs you bought last year."

Nate rolled his eyes but nodded his head in reluctant agreement. Chuck sauntered up behind Blair now and let his arm slide around her waist, his palm curving over her stomach in an almost possessive manner. Leaning in he whispered low in her ear. "As much as I'm enjoying the fact that we don't have to prove ourselves to _everyone_, we should conclude the festivities. Soon. I want to wish you a happy birthday in private." He pulled back and glanced at his friends. "It's better that you don't know," he said in answer to their inquisitive looks.

Slowly and inconspicuously his thumb began rubbing slow circles, rising just a little higher with each one (but not high enough, he realized with a flash of annoyance running through him). His eyes were practically black with the _incredible_ amount of annoyance he felt towards his more-than-girlfriend's, less-than-fiancee's best friend (with her inability to catch on that he wanted Blair _alone_ right now, the blonde was stripped of her rights to be called his sister or stepsister).

Blair swallowed harshly when Chuck leaned over to whisper in her ear, two pairs of blue eyes trained on her as he did so, her body a little too aware of his hand—more specifically, the heat that seemed to be radiating from every spot he touched. When he pulled back and addressed them she gently nudged him in the chest with her elbow, before speaking to her two best friends in a more _appropriate_ manner.

Clearing her throat, Blair began, "You know what, it's getting pretty late, I think you two should get going." She gave them each a look that offered no room for arguing, although Serena _did_ make an excuse to stay longer.

"But I don't have any of my stuff, and besides, I wanted to see you open your present!"

Blair gave her best friend an exasperated look, "That's what platinum AMEX's with no limits are for, now shoo, both of you."

Nate and Serena reluctantly exited the room, wishing Blair a happy birthday as they went. Blair waited until she heard the tell-tale closing of the elevator doors before practically pouncing onto Chuck.

Her hands made quick work of the button on his black coat, her fingers sliding underneath it to wrap around his midsection, her lips gently caressing his neck. "So," she began in between kisses, "Where is my present?" She raised her eyes to his, putting on her best innocent look, a soft pout forming on her lips as she did so.

He was quick to catch up, and his hands settled comfortably onto her ass, roaming the firm flesh over the soft fabric of her dress. "You mean I actually had to give you a gift?" his gravelly voice inquired, only the corners of it stained with something that revealed his jest. "I thought what happened down in the kitchen was good enough." He toyed with the zipper of her dress, but didn't move it an inch, opting instead to let his fingers dance over the skin that was located a half inch above it.

She bit her lip as soon as his hands wandered down to her ass, hips gently rubbing against his as she egged him on.

"If you thought downstairs in the kitchen was enough you wouldn't have wanted me alone again so soon," she countered, eyes challenging his.

"I think I should take offense at that," he whispered, letting his other hand (reluctantly) leave its exploration of the back of her body so he could pull her mouth up to his, away from his neck, and plant a hungry kiss on those pretty lips that he could spend _days_ trying to devour. He broke it, lessening the separation by placing a soft one in its wake, before he was guiding her attention to the pile on the vanity. Being one of the smaller boxes (but potentially the largest in price, that he knew for sure), it was located near the top, the bracelet he'd picked out (the technicality that she'd picked it out didn't matter here) nestled snugly inside. He plucked it up and held the base as he offered it to her for her to open.

She grinned when he held it out to her, and she quickly flipped up the lid, admiring the beautiful Roberto Coin bangle that glittered in the soft lighting of her room. She immediately plucked it out of the velvet casing, slipping the diamond bracelet with gold rims around her wrist and admiring it before catching Chuck's own gaze.

"Happy Birthday, Blair," he murmured, hazel eyes brimming with nothing but the utmost adoration. She would always be the most spectacular person he'd ever known, and he swore that he would do whatever he could to ensure that even if he couldn't keep every day happy for her, that he would not be the cause of her unhappiness nearly as often as he had been in recent history.

The complete and total adoration that was mirrored in his eyes nearly made her heart melt, and she took the black box from his hand, uncaringly tossing it onto the floor and closing the space between them to plant a loving kiss on his lips. It wasn't hungry or needy, but slow and soft. Her hands made their way into his hair, before she slightly pulled back, "Thank you."

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><p><strong>AN: There may or may not be a missing "finale" to this chapter that can be found in a separate story, coming soon to a computer near you. In the meantime, we can't wait to hear what you think! So... do let us know? I (B) would like to personally thank everyone who has taken time out to write a quick review for us. I would really appreciate it if more of our readers would let us know you're there, reading and (hopefully) enjoying this story. There is a lot in store for our favorite pair, so review and we'll be sure to post chapter 13 ASAP!**


	13. Off With Her Head

**A/N: FINALLY! Here is chapter 13! We apologize for the looooooong wait. However, we're getting close to the end of the first leg of the story, and in a few chapters, it will be over. But don't worry, we have a sequel already written! Please enjoy, and of course, REVIEW!**

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><p>The next morning, Blair Waldorf awoke with a strange feeling in her gut. It was one that she'd experienced exactly <em>twenty <em>times before—the feeling that something would go wrong. However, all it took was the sudden awareness of the arm coiled snugly around her waist to diminish the feeling, and instead simply enjoy the soft sunlight that began seeping through her slightly drawn curtains. Instead of turning and waking Chuck up (at least she'd _assumed_ he was still sleeping), she relished in the moment—until it was ruined by the buzzing of her cell phone on the table next to her. Aside from a few recent blasts from Gossip Girl (which she happily ignored), there were a few text messages from friends and enemies alike. Some were of the generic birthday wishes that she always received, but one in particular caught her attention. She didn't recognize the number, but the message seemed different from all the others. It read;

**Happy birthday, Blair. I suggest you thank your boyfriend, for he bought you something that no one else could have…your**

Blair's brow furrowed after she read the message. It was cut short, like they'd forgotten to finish whatever it was they were saying. However, she chose not to dwell on it, though suspicious, she had other ways of finding out whatever it was the cryptic message was talking about. For all she knew, it was from Humphrey (she _refused_ to keep his number in her phone). After a few moments, Blair set her phone back down and turned on her side to face Chuck, eyes shut, a look of pure innocence gracing the features of the oh-so-devilish Basstard himself. She smiled, a real genuine smile, and captured those pouting lips in a soft kiss.

"Wake up, Bass."

Chuck tightened his hold on Blair when her sleep-lined voice whispered and chirped her greeting. He rolled onto his back and dragged her with him, combing his fingers through her hair to keep it out of her face. He pulled her in for a kiss that was slightly deeper, and slightly longer than the one she'd given him, contentment buzzing through his body.

"Morning, sunshine," he murmured, voice deep and heavy. "I hope you aren't making plans to try to leave me this morning," he started. "I'm afraid I'll just have to cancel them for you if you are," he smirked pompously at that.

"My only plan today, is _you_," she smirked, laying a quick kiss on his lips before sitting up slightly, eyes raking over him, "But you…" she continued, fingers gently threading through his chest hair, "Are hosting the black and white ball tomorrow night…at least that's what I've heard through the grapevine. Won't you be needed to help make the preparations?" Her voice left no room for questioning, though her eyes and lips told another lie. "Shouldn't you be…" she leaned down and pressed a kiss into his chest, "Double-checking the guest list." Her lips continued their path a little further down, then ventured back up, to the column of his neck, and the sharp angle of his jaw. "Or will K.C. be handling all the _technical_ stuff?" Her doe eyes flickered up to his, mirroring innocence.

Now that Blair mentioned it (in her backhanded way, of course), he _could_ use her help. Once upon a time, he'd wanted her at arms length and more when planning parties. He wanted to do it all on his _own_, he wanted to _prove_ something. But throughout the tumultuous year they'd been through, he'd relearned what he'd known all along - they were better _together_. They were a _team_. They had their weaknesses, and they had their strengths, and while Chuck could throw a party, Blair could throw a party that would attract all the right kinds of people and that would be appropriate for the type of message he wanted to send.

His hand dipped lower and his palm cupped her ass, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"If you want something, you should ask," he said, pulling her to him for a quick kiss. "A Waldorf without a party to plan is like a fish without water, though," he said. "I wouldn't want you to get thirsty," he murmured, giving his consent. "On the condition that you're there with me, tomorrow night," he said, eyes boring into her.

Blair grinned down at Chuck, approval flashing across her features. "You're right," she nodded, "I hadn't even thought of that, but of course if you need any help…" her grin turned into a smirk, "How do you feel about a change in theme?" Her hands continued their wandering, drawing patterns on his chest and arms, almost as if they were meant for a distraction from her words. "The black and white theme is decent…" her voice trailed off for a moment, her eyes flickering to his momentarily, "But saints and sinners is much more decadent. It will be a masquerade, where inhibitions can't help but break free."

Saints and sinners…. It was lavish, edgy, but classy at the same time. It wasn't starched-shirt-boring, but it wasn't scandalous in the way that Victrola was. Try as he might, he'd been unable to find a perfect balance, having only been accustomed to two types of parties in his short life - somehow, he didn't think the Hotel Association would appreciate him having to walk out of his own black and white ball to find something to make it all a little more enjoyable for him. But this…..

"There's something alluring about an angel drawn to the dark side," his eyes were trained on her as he agreed, thoughtfully, in his deep voice as his own fingers dipped below the curve of her ass to graze over her thighs.

"Or a devil redeemed," Blair immediately shot back.

Chuck's wandering fingers curled quickly, however, at her next sentence, digging in with blunt nails against her thigh as if it were a warning.

"And as for going with _you_," she shrugged, "Sorry, I already have a date." She sighed dreamily and looked up as if she was imagining his face, "He's handsome, rich, owns a hotel…I think you might know him."

The look in his eyes lightened considerably and he was mollified almost instantly. "Correction," he said smoothly, waking his muscles and rolling her promptly onto her back, one of his knees resting just between hers. "He has _two_ hotels," his murmur was low as he leaned in found her neck, the creamy skin spanning it simply too tempting for him. "And he doesn't like being taken for a ride." He nipped her neck after his whisper before pausing and smirking. "That's not entirely true, I suppose," he mused before continuing his assault, lazily.

It wasn't good, he realized, how much she influenced him. How easily she could bend him to her desires, get him to give in to her every whim. He thought he was a strong-willed person, but with her he was almost docile, and thoroughly attentive, and he _liked_ it. It was a level of bliss he had never experienced, and he swore he would do everything he could to keep it. He _could not_ lose her… not again. He would make sure of it. He cursed the situation, not for the first time, that forced Andrew Tyler to be a necessary part of his daily routine until this was wrapped up.

"There is… one phone call I need to make today," he confessed grudgingly against her neck. "I wouldn't do it if it weren't absolutely important. It can be done in the time it takes me to retrieve breakfast, if you wish," he said softly.

Immediately her lips turned up into a pout, and she gently tugged him away from her neck, "I suppose I could use some fresh croissants and fruit. Of course I'll have to shower alone, but…you really need to make that phone call. I understand."

"You drive a hard bargain, Waldorf," he said, kissing her soundly while his one hand grazed up and down her thigh with a featherlight touch. "But," he said, regret splashed onto his face and seeping into every syllable, "This call is very important." He kissed her again. "I wouldn't be making it if it weren't. However," he kissed her cheek, jaw, neck, "Why don't you get started. I'll instruct Dorota on breakfast while I make my call, and then," he kissed her once, "I am," kiss, "All," another one, "Yours."

"Fine," she sighed, gently nudging him to get off her, "Go make your business call, but may I remind you, Bass…" she slipped out of the bed and threw on her robe which had been draped across a nearby chair, "Every minute you spend away from me today without my approval is just another hour you'll have to spend showing me how much you _love_ me." She smiled wryly and tied the sash on her robe.

"I will happily serve any amount of time you see fit until my debt's repaid," he said smoothly, an intense note of sincerity hidden under the suggestiveness and thrill in his voice. He accepted a kiss from her readily and watched her retreat, before rolling and swinging his legs out of bed. He was running double-time, determined to make it back to her as quickly as possible. He found his dress pants from the night before and pulled them on with his boxers (he made a note to call Arthur and get another pair of fresh clothes sent over from the Empire) before grabbing the crimson shirt he'd had on the night before and pulling it over his shoulders (he liked Dorota well enough, but they weren't _that_ close). Too impatient to do anything else with himself he stalked out of the room, pulling out his phone from his pants pocket.

"Arthur, instruct the maid service to select a change of clothes for me and bring them over to the Waldorf penthouse as soon as possible. Thank you." The call ended as he strode into the kitchen and greeted Dorota who eyed him with a mixture of affection and disapproval.

"Morning, Dorota. We'll be needing a tray for breakfast. Fruit, croissants," he listed them first, knowing they were Blair's preference. "Coffee, too," he added after a moment. "I'll be in the living room to bring it upstairs when it's ready." As she began to get the breakfast ready he crept out of the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder and around to be sure no one would be around. He wanted to be able to talk freely. Pressing a number on speed-dial, he waited with slight impatience. "Tyler, what's the latest?"

_"He hasn't done anything spectacular yet, but he's starting to get sloppy. Namedropping some people, probably the ones who got him to go after the lady. Whoever they are, they have sway, or at least they did before they needed this money."_

Frustration sizzled under his skin - this was all? Some guy who couldn't keep his mouth shut? He'd hoped for a bit more progress, but he was unsure of how to get it. Hiring P.I.s, having private armies tail people around, that was what he knew how to do. But if it wasn't enough…. A sinking feeling filled his stomach as the possibility of telling Blair crossed his mind. On the one hand, she was ferocious and he loved her for it - she'd either spot a flaw and come up with a better plan, or she'd assure him that it was fine and to just _wait_. On the other, he wasn't sure what she'd say - to the fact that her accident was on purpose, to the fact that he'd _kept_ this from her… panic seized him at the idea of the punishment he might face for keeping something this serious from her for any amount of time.

"You're absolutely positive there was no one left here to follow _either_ of us?" he stressed.

_"Positive."_

He sighed heavily before nodding as Dorota came in the room. "Call me when you find something," he said curtly before hanging up and taking the tray from her and ascending the staircase.

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><p>When Chuck arrived in Blair's bedroom, he came to find her already in the shower, and therefore the breakfast was forgotten. After he joined her, Blair made sure he made up for their time lost when he disappeared downstairs to make a phone call, to which, he happily obliged.<p>

"You're insatiable, Waldorf," he said gruffly, mirth stitched into the edge of his words "You'll wear me out if you keep jumping me like this."

"Insatiable, yes, but only for you, Bass," she flashed him a cheeky smile, "But don't you worry, that's the last of me you'll be getting until the Saints and Sinner's ball." She laid another gentle kiss on his lips, "Oh, and…I didn't jump you. It's not my fault you just-so-happened to have a thing for the nape of my neck and dirty fantasies."

Any bliss Chuck felt from the good morning shower sex they'd just had suffered a massive hit. He blinked incredulously, mouth set in a thin line. Until tomorrow? Wrong. She had to be suicidal if not homicidal - the odds of either of them lasting that long was far out of bounds, no matter how stubborn the two of them could get.

Nonchalantly, Blair reached around Chuck and shut off the water, before stepping out of the tub, and reaching for one of her soft blue towels. "You can't blame me for trying to preserve our honeymoon phase," she began, crossing the room to sit on her white marble counter, "All I'm saying is no sex for a day, how hard can it be?"

"Oh, I think you know how _hard_ it can be, Waldorf," Chuck leered at her, a devilish smirk playing across his lips with his suggestive comment, before saying, "Need I remind you what happened the last time we had a little fast? I don't have any shoes I can spare for you to hold hostage. I'm a serious businessman now."

"The last time _we_ had a little fast? More like you had a fast! I was dying, Chuck, _throwing_ myself at you, and what did I get in return? Nothing." She sighed, crossing her legs, "I don't want us falling into a routine like last time, Chuck. And it is my birthday, so that means, you have to do what I say."

"Define '_sex_'," he challenged her petulantly, hoping against hope that there would be a loophole he could jump through to touch her (taste her, have _her_ taste _him_, he'd missed it so much - it was a violation of the Geneva Convention to have her take it away from him so soon!).

"Sex," Blair began, "Meaning intercourse. Everything else is fair game." She watched slowly as Chuck exited the shower, openly admiring him, quickly becoming very jealous of the little drops of water that slowly traced along his skin. Her visual, however, was soon interrupted by the towel that he slung (purposefully, that Basstard) low enough on his hips to tease. Blair paused for a moment, lifting her dainty hand to examine her nails, "Besides, tomorrow we'll both be unsatisfied, making it even better." It was a good plan in Blair's mind, besides, they couldn't get too used to having each other so often, since she wanted their "honeymoon phase" as she put it, to last as long as possible. Considering it was their third try at everything, she wanted it to actually work out.

"Tomorrow _I'll_ be unsatisfied and won't care about anyone but myself," he informed her darkly, crossing to where she sat and kissing her quickly. Lies, and they both knew it. Forget the fact that he was Chuck Bass, he'd never let her wait or go unsatisfied while he tended to himself - any finishing from him first had to happen because her mouth was around him and she signed up to put him out of commission for awhile. "Although I'd love to stay with you at the penthouse for the rest of the day...I would like to take an..._actual_ shower." He smirked at her, eyes raking up and down her body.

Addressing his second comment, she frowned slightly, "Go home if you need to, Bass, but you better hurry back. Just because I say no sex until Saints and Sinners' doesn't mean that I want to spend my birthday with Dorota." In fact, quite the opposite, she'd planned on spending her birthday in bed with Chuck until her new plan came to mind—that, and the fact that she wanted to plan out his Ball the next day.

Spotting her frown as she reluctantly agreed to let him go, he smirked and chucked her lightly under the chin, his fingertips gliding over the softness of the flawless porcelain skin. "I'll be back to cater to your every whim," he drawled the promise. "If it makes you feel any better there's another present I've left for you at my suite. You can either wait here for me to return with it or get dressed and come with me and then accompany me to the venue for the party tomorrow. Never plan without knowing what you have to work with," he said loftily before sauntering out of the room to don his clothes from the previous evening.

"It's a great offer, Bass, but as you know, I'm well acquainted with every party venue on the Upper East Side. You can just make up your absence to me later, possibly after our dinner at Lion?" Blair uncrossed her legs and pushed herself off the counter, "Speaking of which, I need to go pick up a new dress at Bergdorf's." Blair followed Chuck out of the bathroom, after he'd gathered his clothes from the floor, into her bedroom, slipping off her towel uncaringly and tossing it over one of her chairs, before opening up her closet and surveying it for an outfit.

Chuck's eyes moved to her body, like the earth on its rotation around the sun...she was so _gloriously_…. He averted his eyes with great difficulty, suddenly finding the buttons on his shirt to be the most fascinating pieces he'd ever seen. When they were done, the same sense of enthrallment overtook him regarding his jacket, which was just _covered_ in microscopic lint! (So microscopic, in fact, that it didn't exist at all.) He slipped his shoes on, folding his bow tie neatly in his hand (it was _silk_, he wasn't going to just crumple it).

Reaching for a royal blue dress, Blair tossed it on her bed, and proceeded to cross the room to her underwear drawers. "I'll meet you at your penthouse before our reservation?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow in his direction before slipping into a pair of black La Perlas.

Finally, his eyes landed on her again, and they lit up in approval as he spotted the black lace panties that she'd put on. He nodded and crossed the room to her. "Come straight up when you get to the hotel," he agreed, leaning in and kissing her cheek (casually, almost. Like it was a habit, and they'd do it every day for the rest of forever. If he had his way…). "And," he lazily slipped his fingers over the edge of the tempting underwear. "Wear these," he smirked wickedly, eyes flashing, before disappearing from the room.

Blair was left standing there in front of her dresser, dumbfounded and horny, no thanks to Chuck. In a way, however, it was simply her fault. Just one look, one word, one simply brush of his lips or touch of his fingers and she was melting for him, literally. Chuck Bass was a sexual man, and Blair Waldorf couldn't get enough. After a few moments, Blair moved back across the room and prepared herself to go out—picking out shoes, accessories, and doing her hair and make-up. On her way out of the penthouse, she sent a message to Serena;

**Hey S, meet me Bergdorf's?**

Before Blair had even gotten out of the elevator that was descending to the bottom floor her phone buzzed, signaling a response. Serena's name in block letters read across the screen;

**B there in 30!**

Once Blair arrived at the shopping center, she went straight to lingerie, figuring that she'd kill time while waiting for her golden-haired friend to show up. She browsed through the racks in search of something skimpy yet elegant, lacy yet naughty. It wasn't until she came upon a deep red set that she stopped searching. It contained a lace and mesh bustier with silk ties and accents, a matching thong, and of course, black garter belts. Picking up the set, she directed herself to the dressing room where she tried it on. After admiring her reflection in the mirror, she searched through her Gucci bag and pulled out her phone, snapping a picture of herself in the mirror.

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><p>"Home," Chuck directed Arthur, a spring in his step as he strolled towards the window, crisp air ruffling his hair. Warmth enveloped him when he slid into the limo, and he flopped back against his seat, a strange feeling of… contentment creeping through him. It had been a long time since he'd felt this way, he mused, but over the past few days he seemed to be awash with it. So much of the better part of this year had been full of misery, self-loathing, and pining for Blair that he hid under an alcoholic haze. Before that, it was Elizabeth Fisher, and before that trying to launch the Empire (for the first time) had consumed him. Those days might as well have been a lifetime ago, though, with the simple calm he felt. Yes, he conceded as the limo took a turn, he was still concerned and very much preoccupied with the mysterious caller and any threats, real or imagined, that were there. But frankly, being with her made even that seem less ominous. He could go home to her, or her to him, and in addition to indulging in her company, he could also know that she was safe.<p>

Some time later, he was exiting his bedroom at his penthouse, firmly tying his purple paisley robe around his waist, now freshly showered with his own soaps. Having canceled his day with the intent of spending it with Blair, he now found himself confronted with an enormous amount of free-time, and he couldn't quite say that he knew what to do with himself.

"This is Chuck Bass," he said into his phone. "I'd like to request a home appointment for as soon as possible. …. The Empire Hotel, penthouse suite. …. Check in with the front desk before you come up. Thank you." He ended the call before sauntering over to his bar and getting out a glass while pulling his decanter of scotch towards him. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, idly taking note of the time. 11:30 - not exactly noon, but it was noon somewhere. Besides, this was a tame time for him to drink, he'd done far worse, far earlier in the day. Amber liquid tumbled out of the crystal holder, and he lifted it, inhaling deeply as he took a healthy swallow. Then, his phone rattled noisily against the counter top on the table, so with glass in hand he returned to the living area and snatched it up.

He smirked slightly when he saw 'BLAIR' across the screen before he opened the message. Instantly his smirk dropped and he stared intently at the small picture. He swallowed tightly in a way that burned his throat more than the liquid in his glass. He couldn't see much, but what he saw was red, and tasteful while somehow showing an incredible amount of skin. A shrill ring interrupted his thoughts which were rapidly moving from suggestive to perverse.

"Yes?" he said sharply into the landline for the penthouse.

_"Mr. Bass, Cindy Lee from the salon is here, shall I send her up?"_ He gave his consent before hanging up and returning to the picture in front of him, slowly walking towards the seat he would take for the session.

He scrolled down farther and saw the message she'd included with the picture, and he instantly chuckled, giving a shake of his head as the doors peeled open on the elevator.

**Tmrw night, Bass, this angel will B drawn 2 the dark side.**

"Set up over here," he said with a wave of his hand.

* * *

><p>Once Serena arrived, Blair joined her at the entrance to Bergdorf's and they immediately started their hunt for the perfect dresses. While they were browsing the racks of couture, Blair debriefed Serena on the plans for the Black and White Ball—more importantly, how she'd changed the theme and that Serena would be in need of a new dress and mask.<p>

After they'd picked out several different gowns, Blair heard her phone buzz, signaling a new text. Seeing 'CHUCK' flash across the screen made a silly grin spread across Blair's features, even before she opened it and read the content, which just made her grin stretch further.

**Tease. UR no angel Waldorf, but that's why I keep u around ;)**

From the corner of her eyes she saw Serena peeking at the text, curious as to what her best friend was smiling at.

"Oh, please don't tell me you're sexting Chuck, we're in a public place, B!"

Blair's eyes snapped up to Serena's, a look of disbelief on her features, "Oh my god, who do you think I am? Of course I'm not, we're discussing the ball."

Serena shrugged innocently, "I dunno Blair, I wouldn't put it past you, ever since you and Chuck got back together-"

"_So it's true_."

A voice broke through Serena and Blair's conversation, causing the pair to turn at the source. Blair's eyebrows rose on her forehead as she took in the form of little Jenny Humphrey standing before them.

"Um, it's called minding your own business, Humphrey." Blair spat, shoving her phone back into her bag and turning to walk away.

However, the voice of the persistent blonde didn't cease, "Don't forget Blair, you declared war on my brother. Humphreys stick together, and don't think for one second you're going to get out of this unscathed. Just because you and Chuck are back together doesn't mean you're gonna win."

Blair stopped in her tracks, not even bothering to turn around. Instead, she looked back over her shoulder, her ice-cold glare slicing through Jenny's. "You sound so sure of yourself. It's almost endearing. I'll see you on the battlefield, little J." After looking forward again, Blair signaled Serena and walked towards the dressing rooms to try on their couture. Once inside, Blair set her Gucci bag down by the door and turned to face the mirror, slipping off her royal blue dress, and stepping into a cream-colored one—something she'd thought would be perfect for the ball. She was so enthralled with her own reflection, that she didn't even notice the dainty white hand slipping beneath the dressing room stall, and removing her phone.

* * *

><p>Sun, red as the blood in his veins, was streaming through the penthouse windows, soaking the room in its setting rays. He stared out the window, eyes squinted against the harshness of the light, trying to remain… calm wasn't the word, because he was very fast past that, but trying to remain in one piece. Because he felt like he could explode at any minute, just break. As easily as the house of sticks had fallen when the big bad wolf came to blow it all down. Maybe he should do what he'd planned to do over a month ago - pack up, disappear, sell his life and create a new identity for himself where no one knew him or knew who he was supposed to be. It certainly had to be easier than this, than this… this back and forth, up and down, side to side he'd dealt with over the past few days. He'd thought things had finally settled between him and Blair - that after months of agony and heartache from both of them (although admittedly, they expressed it in different ways) they were finding their own level. She'd admitted they were together last night, at her own birthday party, despite all the social ruin it could bring about for her, forgiving the scoundrel who'd treated her so viciously. She'd said she loved him. She said…. Long fingers squeezed tighter around the small square box in his hand, a not-so-tiny diamond twinkling up at him from its spot against the satin. She said she would <em>marry <em>him.

But had she? Had she really? It had all happened so fast, but he had sworn that they'd reached the point where when he did ask her, officially, it was understood that she'd say yes. That the only reason they weren't labeling each other as fiancee was because he hadn't put her ring on her finger and wouldn't until the storm had passed and it was accepted that they were for good this time. But maybe he'd only inferred it all and any body language or words he'd missed had gotten swallowed up in his own greedy desires to have her bear his ring and his name - hell, his child, too, if she wanted that picture perfect lifestyle she'd chattered endlessly about when they were younger, simply switching out her golden haired prince with her dark knight. But apparently, he sneered to himself, she hadn't been quite ready to give up on even the prince part of her dream. Her phone felt heavy in the pocket of his suit, and he wondered, melodramatically, if he'd have to burn this to get the filth out when he returned it to her. He hadn't believed it when he'd had it brought up a little while earlier. It had been handed off to him and it was vibrating insistently. The number of text messages left unanswered seemed outlandish, and when he saw they were from Serena and Nate he had intended to do what he thought was the considerate thing and let them know Blair had misplaced her phone and it had only just gotten back to him and she wasn't here yet. When he opened the messages to respond, however….

SERENA:** B, what r u talking abt? U & Chuck were disgusting last night?  
><strong>BLAIR:** Ur right, CHUCK was disgusting, S. Slimy basstard.**

NATE:** Blair, u know it's over btwn us. Where is this coming from?**  
>BLAIR:<strong> It's never been over, Nate, not for me.<strong>

SERENA:** U were so happy when he was texting u at BG, tho…**  
>BLAIR:<strong> I wasn't texting HIM, S.<strong>

NATE:** Chuck's my best friend, I won't do this. U love him, remember?**  
>BLAIR:<strong> I'm with the wrong best friend. I love you, Nate. Always have, always will.<strong>

He'd seen all he needed to see to feel like his entire inner-core was caving in on itself. He'd felt sick, but unable to throw up; he'd wanted to shout, but had been unable to find a voice; he wanted to yell, and kick, but hadn't been able to find his limbs. When he did find the will to move, he'd hurled out of his seat on the couch and gone straight for his safe, spinning the dial until it popped open. He'd shoved his hand inside, knocking aside the long, rectangular velvet box that housed the necklace he'd bought the day before and found, instead, the small, square one he'd purchased months ago that guarded the most perfect ring that he knew belonged on her hand. Holding it tightly in his hand he swung his arm - if he aimed right, he could send it sailing through the window, out over the avenue and right into the fountain at Lincoln Center.

He hadn't been able to do it, though, which was why he was standing in front of his window, defeated, holding it in his hand. He shouldn't be so surprised, he supposed. Every voice that had ever told him he wasn't good enough, was just a selfish, womanizing, money-grubber was bearing down on him. It wasn't a surprise that Nate had won out over him, the good boy from old money with charisma and a winning smile. (He'd have to thank Nate for his loyalty, though, when it was all over.) Nate was by far the better option, and she'd never lie to Serena. Blair didn't deserve Nate, though, he thought to himself scathingly - not when she was such a person that could have people falling at her feet, ready to give her a Manhattan Empire if she'd only let them, only to turn around and betray them. He'd hate to see the same fate befall Nate when they were five years older and Nate was a senator like every other Van der Bilt. Chuck's humiliation would already be public enough, but a senator would be even more public and that much more degrading when it came out his wife was using him. He'd been such a fool…. Never would Chuck Bass have the good grace to get Blair Waldorf to love him. To marry him. There would be no Blair Bass, no Mr. and Mrs. Bass to grace page six, no bundles of children to ruin the ludicrously perfect penthouse that they would have picked out together (by together, obviously, he meant the one that Blair gushed over and had picked out ahead of time while patronizing him with others and somehow managing to find something wrong with every. Single. One.).

* * *

><p>Hours later, on the cab-ride to The Empire, Blair restlessly dug through her purse.<p>

"S, it's not here!" she moaned with an exasperated tone, sinking back into the seats with defeat.

"I'm sure it'll turn up, it's Bergdorf's, no one will steal it."

Blair looked over at her friend incredulously, "That's the best you could come up with? For all I know some crazy drug-fiend is pawning it off right now!"

The cab came to a stop outside The Empire, and Blair managed to pull herself (along with all her new purchases) out and into the elevator. Losing her phone was making her anxious, there was stuff on there she didn't want anyone getting their hands on—especially when most of the UES was looking down on her currently. The elevator ride up to Chuck's penthouse seemed longer than usual, but she was incredibly relieved when the doors slid open and she was wrapped in scents and sights that just reminded her how lucky she was. In other words, everything Chuck.

"Honey, I'm home!" She called out, stepping into the main room and setting all her shopping bags on the floor.

His shoulders stiffened, and he wondered how he might have greeted her if he hadn't found her phone. Probably kiss her in a way that made her question her decision to ban sex until tomorrow night. Slide her dress up just a bit too high and _accidentally_ find his hands pawing at her underwear. He had to marvel at how calm and collected she could sound, however. His clever girl always did know how to get everyone to sing the song she wanted to hear. He didn't turn around immediately, but eventually he did. Still holding the ring in one hand, he dug into his pocket with the other and pulled out her phone.

"The concierge," he began, slowly, voice measured as he opened the phone and scrolled through her messages, "was kind enough to drop this off after it was left in his care once you misplaced it."

He stopped on the message that he deemed to be the most offensive and hurtful and _angering_ (_always have, always will_). He lifted his gaze and met hers with a steely look in his eye as he handed the phone over to her. There was a sharp click, then, when the velvet box in his hand snapped shut, and he strode past her, grabbing the phone off the end table by the couch as he went.

"If you'll excuse me," he breezed. "There's something I need removed from my possession." Even as he said it, he knew the box in his hand would only be going to his private safety deposit box, and it would probably stay there until his last breath. He couldn't send it back to the store just now, and he wouldn't want to see it again after tonight.

Blair's eyes flickered up to Chuck, and she blocked his path, grabbing his arm and forcing him to turn around. "Chuck, what's—" her words were interrupted by the buzzing of her phone. She picked it up and looked at the text from Nate; _**What has gotten in 2 U? This cant B U. U love Chuck.** _

Realization dawned, and she glanced up at her boyfriend (soon to be ex, if he had any choice), trying to decide how to approach this.

"You went through my phone," her voice offered no room for argument, and instead of letting him speak, she continued, "Chuck," her voice was harsh, "You need to listen to me. I didn't send any of these text messages. I haven't had my phone since S and I tried on our dresses at Bergdorf's!" Her firm and steady tone was quickly becoming shrill and shaky. She was trying to keep it together, though she was seething with anger.

"Someone must have picked it up and tried to sabotage me…" Her mind reeled, trying to think of someone who might want to hurt their relationship, but sadly for her, right now that list was the entire UES population.

"Little Jenny Humphrey." It had to be her, she was the only one who would think up something so…so...Blair-like. "We saw her at Bergdorf's, she saw me texting you, she-she must have found it and sent these. Please Chuck, you have to believe me!"

She'd do anything at this point. All these little things began clicking, Dan and Jenny Humphrey, her phone, the messages, the ring Chuck held in his hand, and most importantly, what he planned to do with it. She realized how guilty she sounded by pleading but, how could he?

"How could you think…" she stopped short, shaking her head, eyes cast downward. _How could he think I'd send these?_ Pain gripped her and she stared, glassy-eyed, down at the carpeting.

"Why wouldn't I?" he finally said, forcing himself to look at her downcast figure. "Up until three days ago, you hated me. I have…" his thumb ran tightly over the edge of the box.

Eva didn't count in his mind.

"_I _hated _you_?" she yelled, desperately seeking some truth in his words, "Why do you think that Eva isn't standing right next to you, right now? It's because I _never_ stopped loving you Chuck. _I can't_. I've tried, so hard, to get rid of you, but I _can't_. You mean _too much_ to me."

"I have never wanted _anyone_ but you. But you… you've wanted Nate. You've _left_ me for Nate before." She'd also left Nate for him, too, even if it had taken awhile to come back to him. "It doesn't make _sense_ for you to…" his jaw was set and his clenched hand lifted with the box to run over his mouth. The more he thought about it, the more he was second-guessing himself, but by this point it was more of a matter of not changing his mind on his assumption and admitting he'd been wrong than truly believing his thought.

"I _left you_ for Nate? I left you for Nate because he was my _boyfriend_. I left you for Nate because you _refused_ to tell me you _loved me_!" This brought tears to the brunette's eyes, the mere thought bringing her back to a dark place. Bringing her back to the days that she pretended not to care for the basstard, and the nights where she wept, wondering why he couldn't love her. Why he couldn't say it.

Blair mentally crushed that inner voice that was betraying her heart, even though she felt that Chuck was doing just what she was avoiding. He was giving up. The smallest roadblock in their newly found relationship, and he wasn't even going to try and fix it. Blair clenched her hands into fists, her nails biting into the palms of her hands with the pressure.

Her voice slowly lowered in its volume, "Eva isn't here right now because I got rid of her. Don't tell me for a _second_ you didn't feel something for her—why else would you have declared war on me? If it hadn't been for the accident, where would we be right now?"

"Because I _loved_ you and you wouldn't let me!" he exclaimed, voice rougher than normal. "I declared war because when I was with Eva I could focus on trying to change myself, and without her all I could think of was that I was alone, that you were never going to…." He stopped, because remembering the knowledge he'd believed himself to have at the time of never having her in his grasp again (literally or figuratively) was still unpleasant. "You _drove_ me to war." He also refused to think of where they would be if he hadn't got the call that brought him to the hospital.

"If you love me, Chuck, you'll trust me." She glanced down at her phone, she knew what she was saying was unfair. They both knew he loved her, but trusting her was a whole other issue. He'd admitted she'd never be fully trustworthy—all because she wanted to help him plan something. Her eyes were glued to a text from Serena, and she sniffled, viciously wiping the tears from her cheeks, as if they were betraying her.

"Besides, why would I text Serena? I was with her _all day_! Jenny must have somehow taken my phone while we were shopping, and has been sending these texts purposefully to try and break us apart!" She nearly exclaimed this new piece of information, as if it was the key unlocking the whole incident. However, she doubted Chuck would feel the same way. She knew that they were walking on thin ice, and Blair was only helping to crack it.

Chuck looked down at the tiny square box in his hand and loosened his grip slightly so he could roll it over his palm. It had all been a mistake, he realized, recognizing his rash actions, and because of it he may very well still have no need of the ring, because she might have no need of him after this. Swallowing tightly as Blair spoke, he turned and headed towards the bar, pulling his scotch glass towards him. He placed the box down on top of the bar, fingers stiff from the way he'd held it, and pulled the bottle of liquor towards him, uncapping it.

"We may have… inadvertently… provided the perfect chance for revenge from her by announcing ourselves the way we did," he began, pouring himself a drink, the liquid in the glass suddenly extremely fascinating to him (he just couldn't look at her when he told her this). "After all, I imagine she would be quite put out when her interview with Tim Gunn got canceled… when _I _canceled the interview," here it was. He took a breath, "that _I_ set up for her." He scowled and kept his eyes locked on the glass in front of him. He hadn't even brought it to his lips yet,

She narrowed her eyes at him (rather, the back of his head), initially, but the brunette's eyes became immediately trained to the small velvet box lying idly on the counter. Blair's brow furrowed, "Why would you…" realization dawned on her even as she spoke. The reason why Jenny Humphrey was back on her island, after she'd exiled her, was because Chuck had set up an interview for her. The Basstard. It had no doubt been when they'd declared war, but nevertheless, the bleached-blonde was in Manhattan, wreaking havoc.

This new information, however, wasn't exactly a bad thing. When Jenny found out that Chuck was the one who planned and canceled her interview, she would be seething. She already wanted revenge on the two of them, and this would make her even more vengeful. "As far as Jenny knows…we hate each other right now. You know, Bass, we could probably use this to our advantage." Blair crossed the room and sat down on his couch, flipping open her phone and sending a text to Penelope and Is:

**Little J is on the island. I say…off w/her head. U 2 R on stake out. Keep me updated. **

"I hope you still have that PI on speed-dial. We're going to need as much dirt on the Humpreys as possible," Blair had gone from innocent victim to ruthless queen in less than a minute—she wouldn't let Jenny win this one. "You should probably cancel our reservation at Lion, I have a feeling this will take awhile." When it came down to Blair Waldorf, plotting social destruction was better than couture or expensive dinners at her favorite restaurants—dare she even say sex. The takedown of Jenny Humphrey, just so happened to be the second greatest birthday present she could ask for. The first, was currently sitting at the bar with scotch.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well? What did you think? Also, if there is any confusion as to the Serena/Blair texts, remember that in the show, Jenny switched out Serena's sim card, because Juliet, Vanessa, and Jenny were all trying to take her down. In our version, Jenny is also trying to get at Blair because of her declaration of war on Dan. Anyways, REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! The shower scene from this chapter will be uploaded into a one-shot if anyone is interested in just what Blair meant by "dirty fantasies". ;)**


	14. Whenever, Wherever

**A/N: And here is chapter 14! It's shorter than the others, but full of...well, you'll find out soon enough. Enjoy and as always REVIEW! We posted the missing scene from the last chapter, and it can be found here: s/8542601/1/Lavender-Suds-and-Sultry-Fun | Also, we appreciate everyone who has taken a moment to write a review, it really means the world to us. Those of you who are reading as we update and following/enjoying the story, please please please just take a moment to write us out a quick review! There are only a few more chapters left before this part of the story is over. So, as always, enjoy.**

* * *

><p>Chuck nearly choked on his mouthful of aged liquor when she spoke, an edge to her voice that was reminiscent of ones he'd heard before, but that was stronger, too. He looked over his shoulder at her, regarding her carefully, almost with suspicion (was she going to trip him when he walked back over to her?). She certainly seemed harmless enough, though that could very well change, but he decided to press his luck and he dared to venture into the general vicinity of the main living area.<p>

"It shouldn't be that impossible to scrape some off them," he said dryly, grabbing his cellphone off the table in front of the couch and scrolling through his contacts. Andrew Tyler was busy, and he refused to divert him from that work. Mike, however, was trusty enough for this job, and he wasn't nearly as expensive as Andrew. The idea of throwing so much cash out the window on Humphreys was disgusting - there was only one person he'd spend that much money on, and she was currently three feet away with her nose buried in her phone.

Blair's eyes stayed trained to the device, she was checking Gossip Girl, looking for anything that she might have missed in the past that she could bring up—a sore spot, her Achilles heel. As she was doing so, a buzz signaled that Penelope and Is had responded to her text:

**We R on our way 2 the VDWs. When will U tell us Y U exiled J?**

Rolling her eyes, Blair quickly typed out a response:

**UR job is not 2 ask Qs, it's 2 follow orders. Dnt lose sight of her.**

After calling to cancel the reservation at Lion, Chuck placed a call to Mike. "It's Chuck Bass," he said. "I need every piece of unsavory information and information we can make unsavory on Daniel and Jennifer Humphrey," he said. "It shouldn't be hard." There was a pause while Mike questioned him and Chuck turned to Blair, lowering the phone. "How fast do you want it?" he asked.

Her eyes snapped up to Chuck's when he spoke, "As fast as you can deliver it."

There was a flash in Chuck's eyes and his lips twitched at the very corners. _Focus_, he reminded himself firmly, forcing any and all cleverly lewd comments from his mind, stilling his tongue. He lifted the mouthpiece back up and spoke into the phone.

"Mike? Yeah. Send over anything you find via email, and have a hardcopy of the information delivered to the lobby of the Empire Hotel within two hours." Then, he wandered idly away from Blair as she focused on her phone, lowering his voice of a more quiet, confidential tone. "Don't leave anything out, no matter how personal it seems. In fact, the more personal the better," he said grimly. "I want them finished, Mike. They've spent years trespassing on my territory and it's time they realized why I'm Chuck Bass." The two siblings had gone from being hardly worth Chuck's time to the technically step-siblings he was forced to acknowledge, to people who must be taught a lesson. It made him bristle with indignation to think of what the pair of them had tried to accomplish over the past two days alone, and he simply wouldn't put up with it. Every person had their breaking point, and it seemed he had just found his.

Blair's eyes went straight back to her phone when Penelope and Is texted her back with the news they had:

**J is leaving the VDW penthouse, and Ull never guess w/who.**

Attached was a picture of Jenny getting into a cab with Vanessa and Juliet. Blair's confusion, surprise, and anger couldn't even be expressed properly by the way her eyebrows rose to her forehead, and her shrill voice shouted, "Those little trolls!"

Chuck turned sharply at the shrillness of Blair's voice, making note of the expression on her face. "Hang on," he said into the phone.

Jenny, Vanessa, and Juliet? The three people Blair hated more than anyone, were chumming it up? She hardly believed that they were going out for dinner at Butter. There was only one thing that could bring these lowly UES girls together. But why Juliet? Blair wondered, staring at the picture. And Vanessa? Blair knew that she didn't have good standing with either of them, but nothing she had done lately could spur this kind of teaming up. The only logical explanation was that Blair wasn't their only target, but who else?

"Looks like we're gonna need more dirt than just the Humpreys. Vanessa and Juliet are teaming up with her." Her expression was blank, but her voice was full of amusement. Publicly humiliating enemies always did make Blair...excited.

Chuck locked eyes with Blair and nodded. "Done," he said, sparing a smirk. "Try to contain yourself, Waldorf," he murmured before addressing his PI. "Also Vanessa Abrams and Juliet Sharp. The same goes for them, anything you find sent over through email followed with a hardcopy when you deliver on the Humphreys. The sooner you get it, the faster you get paid," he said, hanging up the phone moments later. Pointing at the laptop by the couch, he spoke, "I left myself logged into my email, just open it. I'll call down to the kitchen for something to eat. Do you want anything in particular?" he inquired.

Blair placed her phone down onto the coffee table in front of her, before reaching over and picking up Chuck's laptop. She brought up a web browser and searched for the Friendspace pages of Jenny, Juliet, and Vanessa. She had a feeling that they wouldn't make any too personal information public, but Blair always was sneaky with her ways. Digging through hidden comments was always her specialty, as well as searching for the tiniest hint of upset in their updates. Jenny's last one stated:

_Tim Gunn interview cancelled. Im so mad! W/e im back on the island, hit me up & we'll hang._

Blair shrugged and continued searching; looking through Vanessa and Jenny's pages to see if they'd had any chit-chats about their current visit. Juliet's page, however, was inaccessible, even for Blair. It made her more curious—no one really knew who this Juliet girl was, even Nate didn't know the whole truth about her. And she doubted N would be willing to share what he did know.

"I'll have whatever you're getting," she answered idly, staring at the screen intently as she tried to dig up dirt on her enemies. Though she was in fact very attuned into what she was doing, Blair was also extremely aware of what Chuck was doing. With their fight having been so recent, she still felt tension between them, especially since it hadn't exactly been resolved. The two of them had an issue with putting off talking about things. Her thoughts trailed back to what their plans had been for the night. Dinner at the Lion (she was going to order the Lobster pot pie), and then their night of sex-less love. She had a feeling that Chuck still didn't believe her about the text messages, and she was determined to prove it. If outing Jenny and her minions was what it took, she'd do it.

Chuck gave her a long, hard look, but despite his efforts at what could only be described as telepathy, her wide brown eyes remained glued to the screen. Under normal circumstances he'd have chalked it up to the fact that Blair Waldorf on a hunt, especially a hunt on people she loathed, was impossible to deter. She wouldn't rest until she'd gotten what she wanted, and it just wasn't something to take personally when you waved a $2,000 dress in front of her face and she still didn't look at you. Some of her neuroticism had rubbed off on him, apparently, because he couldn't help but feel that their recently (_extremely _recently) shaky ground was part of it. Although he might be just being foolish, it seemed like there was a divide between them that they were dancing around, both of them seizing this opportunity to have an excuse of being together without actually being _together_ and fully acknowledging and spending time with the other person. They weren't talking about a takedown _with_ each other they were talking about it _at_ each other, as all those phony communications-based books preached. With a grim expression he picked up the phone and dialed down to the kitchen.

"Send up the entree for the evening to the penthouse along with…" he paused for half a minute, doing a mental scan of the menu in his head. "The seared squab," he decided on. Light enough that she wouldn't worry about it wreaking havoc on her waistline, but tempting enough that she would actually eat it.

At this point, Blair wasn't even reading the screen in front of her. Her ears were trained on Chuck, darting up to watch him whenever he wasn't looking. She was torn, unable to decide whether or not they should discuss their earlier fight. She perked up slightly when she heard him order one of her favorite entrees off the menu. By the edge of his tone and body language, she didn't even think he was aware of what he'd just done.

Inwardly, Blair cursed.

They were in love, little things like that were proof of it, so why were they fighting over a stupid little text message that she hadn't even sent! Slowly, her brown hues made their way back to the screen. She knew exactly why they were fighting—Chuck couldn't trust her. She didn't blame him, who would trust Blair? She was scheming, manipulative, sadistic…but so was he. In theory, they were a match made in heaven. But like every couple, they had their flaws. Trust being one of the worst.

After hanging up the phone Chuck shed his suit jacket - no need to look entirely put together if they were spending the evening entirely indoors, after all - and promptly loosened his tie and rolled up the sleeves on his shirt. Essentially as he ever allowed himself to get when he wasn't strapped into a smoking jacket or a robe. "Find anything interesting?" he asked as he smoothed out a wrinkle in his sleeve, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Even to his ears the question sounded forced and he pressed his lips together, stuck, in his mind, between a rock and a hard place. Either he push the issue of what had happened, or they stay in what he was perceiving to be an entirely tense relationship. Communicating wasn't his favorite thing (and he was sure Blair knew that quite well), but their lack of communication about their not-so-small blowup might ultimately hinder their progress with this scheme if they couldn't bounce ideas off each other like they normally did.

Blair just shrugged at his question, "No," she responded, "Gossip Girl hasn't updated since yesterday. I doubt we're going to be able to get any dirt on these girls through the internet." At that, she minimized the web browser, leaving his email the only thing still up, and she was about to shut his laptop when he spoke her name, his tone so demanding and firm that it nearly made chills run up and down her spine.

"Blair," he began, trying to sound firm and draw her attention to him. "Are we going to-" before he could finish the sentence his phone went off with an incoming email. He sighed sharply in frustration.

"Mike sent something, you might want to check it out," he said, turning when he heard the 'ding' of the elevator and a cart was wheeled into the penthouse. Glancing at her, he went to retrieve it, giving his thanks before pushing it the rest of the way himself (anything to get rid of the third party - they didn't need anymore reasons to make it difficult to talk).

Gleaming silver covers were removed from the dishes and small swirls of steam exploded into the air. The squab was plated perfectly, and upon inspection of his own dish, he decided it was venison of some sort - he hadn't actually looked see what it was he would be getting. Chuck placed the covers to the side, disregarding the common silverware that was sent up with room service in favor of the better silverware that was in his kitchen. He ducked out of the living room to retrieve it but returned in a moment, placing her set down wordlessly before offering her one of the rolled up cloth napkins. His earlier drive to bite the bullet and rip the band-aid off (sometimes mixed metaphors were useful) was still in him, but he had lost his edge and determination slightly with the two interruptions they'd had, which infuriated him to no end. The more this night carried on, the more uncharacteristic they both seemed. He should be eating next to her on the couch, either just as engrossed in the information they were discovering and letting the wheels in his head tick and click with a plan on how to pulverize the nuisances, or trying to slide his hand under her dress and distract her. _"You said no sex,"_ he'd say when his fingers got dangerously close to the lacy black La Perlas he hoped were still located beneath that rich blue dress. He swallowed hard at the thought of them, because he knew that she'd have had no reason to get rid of them midday (although the idea of her walking around while secretly _not_ donning any underwear was another fantasy driving thought entirely) and they were most certainly still on her.

Instead, they were stuck in limbo and were no doubt about to eat dinner in the sound of nothing but clinking forks and knives. His hand touched the edge of her plate, ready to lift it to hand it to her as she put his laptop on the coffee table, but her question made him stop short and his eyes jumped to hers.

"Are we going to _what_?" She questioned, staring him down with the same heavy gaze he'd just put on her.

The intensity in her expression was hard, piercing, exactly as his had been before everyone in this damn building had decided to try to interrupt them. If he really wanted, he could still beg out.

_Blair, are we going to have time to finish planning the ball tomorrow night with this takedown?_

_ Blair, are we going to need to tell the others about this?_

_ Blair, are we going to sleep in separate beds tonight?_

That last one squeezed his heart in a funny way and he decided right then and there that it wouldn't be happening. Even if they were both stilted with each other, even if he had to drag her into his bedroom and lock the door and swallow the key, he would end the night, whenever it did end, with Blair in his arms. Begging out, though, was the coward's way out. He'd been a coward too often, too long, when it came to the two of them, and he refused to slip into that role again. It had nearly cost him her once (or twice, or three times, or more), but he'd be damned if he let that happen again, not when they had a _future_ together. He surveyed her carefully, trying to read her. There was no way she didn't know what he was about to push.

Another beat passed before he charged right in.

"I'm always going to be…" he stopped, a small grimace twisting at his lips and he swallowed to get the word out, "_Jealous_," he muttered, "of you and Nate. You were infatuated with him for as long as I can remember. Everything he did was good, everything I did was despicable, even if it was exactly what he did." He smirked in a chilling way, a memory playing before his eyes as if it were on a reel. "I saw you two at cotillion. When I participated in public brawls, it was selfish and low-class and a sign that the two of us couldn't co-exist. But when Nate punched Baizen," his eyes glinted. "It was _hot_." He'd only seen Blair attacking Nate's neck, but he may as well have walked in on them in the act, writhing and naked and screaming. The sounds Blair had been making, though, he knew them well, and coupled with the knowledge that the minute Nate got her behind those doors he would be going where only Chuck had gone before was…. It had taken large doses of liquor and pot to allow him sleep at night. "And when I didn't… show for Tuscany…" he dropped his gaze, brow furrowed. "My father was incredibly disappointed with me. It was something that Nate never would have done." He sighed and sat down slowly, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward, locking his fingers together to brace him. "Nate's your fantasy," he said. "I don't trust you to want reality enough… but more important I don't trust myself to give you a reason to want this reality." He looked at her then, a strange mix of dark despair and pure love for her painted on his expression. "I'm Chuck Bass," he said as if that explained it all.

Blair had a hard time believing the words that were coming out of Chuck's mouth. A mixture of outrage and confusion swirled behind her doe eyes, but pain overtook both. How could she have allowed herself to make Chuck believe this lie? Was she no better than his father? Blair immediately felt cold, her thoughts bringing her back to when Eva was with him. His name was strewn across every paper in New York—the new and improved Chuck Bass. The perfect woman on his arm. A woman who donated money to charities and made Chuck breakfast. New York had coined her Chuck's best catch, the woman that changed Chuck Bass; something that the press had never even considered labeling Blair. She stared at the man before her, turning over in her head how she should respond. Half of her felt like kissing him would fix things, letting him know that she was his and it was going to stay that way. The other half of her was more firm, and told her that she needed to say something. Needed to reassure him.

"Nate _used_ to be the fantasy," Blair spoke slowly, her tone steady and words calculated, "He's safe...kind, and handsome." She knew that it sounded like she was going off in the wrong direction, but she held strong, "But Nate is a pauper. Something surely not fit for a queen. You, Chuck, you're _exciting_. You only show the wicked side of you to the world, and I get to see the other side. The caring, passionate part of you that I love. You're one of the only people on this island that I consider my _equal_. One of the only people I'll listen to." She paused for a moment, "I know that I'm the same for you." She stopped again, gauging his expression before continuing on, "When I imagine myself, ten years from now, do you want to know what I see?" she stopped for a beat before, "Blair Cornelia Bass, owner of Waldorf designs' New York branch, wife of the most successful businessman in Manhattan." A soft smile broke out on her features, "You aren't just my reality Chuck. You're my fantasy, my past, my present...future...you're my _everything_."

He didn't say anything for a good while, he just looked at her, in serious contemplation. Wordlessly, he reached out, running his fingers through her long, dark brown tresses, relishing in the silken texture that flowed between his fingers. "I'm sorry I…" he trailed off, a little at a loss because he felt like he had so much to apologize for. He was sorry he reacted the way that he had; he was sorry he was a jealous, greedy man who just wanted to hold onto her forever; he was sorry that this discussion was even necessary, that she'd had to reassure him of his place in her heart; he was sorry… that he'd all but threatened to have her ring taken away from him, essentially promising that any thoughts of their future were demolished just because he got hotheaded. The words rolled off his tongue before he even knew what he was saying, but he didn't regret them in the slightest. It wasn't pomp and circumstance, and it wasn't the Empire State Building, but it was them.

"Marry me." He stated the words quietly as he drew his thumb across her cheek, not asking it because as far as he was concerned this wasn't a yes or no issue. "_Whenever_ you want, however, _wherever_…. You don't even have to wear your ring now, we don't have to tell anyone but us, but I want you to…." He wanted confirmation. They'd only been reunited for a short time, but they'd never really been apart. It was always her, it had been since he was sixteen, hell maybe longer, and over the past few days they'd done everything but specifically state their intentions. He took a breath. "Marry me, Blair."

There was a moment of deafening silence between them.

A moment when there was nothing but them, as their eyes bore into each other's, breath held. Chuck's words made Blair's heart stop. She gently reached up, placing her hand over the one that was idly playing with her hair—a silly act of reassurance. Marry Chuck. It wasn't even a question, was it? She felt like shutting him up, telling him that there was no need for his words, though they held a certain sentiment that couldn't be expressed any other way. It was one of Chuck's ways of showing just how much he loved her. Marry Chuck. Mrs. Blair Waldorf Bass. It was a thought that had gone through her mind several times. She'd dreamt of how he'd propose. A lot of times they were back at the same spot outside the Palace, where he'd first told her he loved her. Other times, they were in the back of his limo, the first time they'd kissed. Never once did she imagine it would happen on her birthday, right after a fight, with no preparations or planning, just a burst of love that couldn't been contained.

It was better than any proposal she could have ever fantasized.

A grin broke out on her features, but she didn't speak. Instead, she leaned in and closed the distance between the two of them, kissing him for all he was worth, pouring all her emotions—good and bad—into the act.

Blair's dainty fingers slid into his short brown hair possessively, nothing that it…seemed shorter than usual. The thought barely crossed her mind however, and she reared back, eyes swimming with adoration and love.

"You don't have to ask me twice," she answered with a smirk, leaning in to steal another kiss, her tongue gently pushing past his lips, fingers slightly curling in his hair, before she pulled back slightly, her lips brushing up against his, breath short and full of excitement, eyes consumed with warmth and unadulterated love.

"I didn't _ask_ you, Bass," he reminded her, thrilled beyond measure with his newest pet name - she might not be his wife yet, but this was good enough for him.

"Yes, Charles Bartholomew Bass, I will marry you. Wherever, whenever," she lightly pecked his lips this time, "But for the record…I want the ring." A greedy little smile replaced her previous smirk. She wanted it for two reasons; the first being the fact that she loved that ring ever since she saw it in Paris by accident, and the second was that she wanted the world to know exactly who she belonged to.

His face split into a grin when she remarked about wanting the ring. He was relieved by that, and knew that as much as she wanted it now, he'd wanted to give it over to her even worse. He kissed her quickly before disentangling himself from her and pushing up from the couch, swiftly maneuvering himself around it and striding towards the bar. He snatched up the velvet box and returned to her, sitting beside her and opening it so the stone could glint up at them. Swallowing tightly, the gravity of the moment finally settling in, he lifted it from the box, the metal cool between his fingers.

"Give me your hand," he said, voice bordering on gruff, and he held out his own hand with his palm facing upward. "Do I need to get down on one knee?" he was half sarcastic, and half wary - the one-knee-notion was something he'd held onto from his playboy youth that thought marriage was ridiculous, but knowing Blair Waldorf, she could very well demand that of him.

A rush of emotions washed over Blair as she stared at the ring. The one that the muggers took from him. The one he risked his life defending. This ring, one that she'd never worn, yet had so much history with, was going to be the symbol of their relationship, and their love. She immediately gave him her hand, waiting impatiently for him to slide the ring onto her finger (the ring she knew would fit perfectly, like everything he buys her does).

"Just put it on already!" She exclaimed, a smile riddling her features as she urged him to seal the deal.

After all, they'd been waiting for this moment long enough, and it couldn't have been more perfect.

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><p><strong>AN: Happy? We sure are. If you're enjoying the story please please please please (please?) take a moment to write us a review, and thanks to all who have been doing so all along! Everyone start getting excited, because in two or three more chapters you'll find out who has been behind all of the blackmailing in a climactic ending. Leave us a review and we'll work faster to get the last chapters pulled together! Promise! And, while we do enjoy reading reviews about our smut, we really really appreciated those of you who are involved in the story and speculate on the plot/characters and what's to come! **


	15. Preparing for Battle

**A/N: Chapter 15! Enjoy, and make sure you read the A/N at the end. Also, be warned, explicit smut lies ahead.**

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><p>Chuck met Blair's eyes when she slowly raised them back to his. A sheepish little grin was all he could offer her before her body was colliding with his and she was kissing him again. He leaned back into the plush red cushions and fastened his own arms around her, hauling her against his body so every curve of hers slotted into the slight dips of his body. Subtly, he inched his hands up towards the zipper on her dress, but he stopped short of yanking it down, her words from earlier echoing in his ears.<p>

No sex, no sex, _no sex no sex no sex_.

He thought he'd been disappointed before, but that was nothing to how he felt now. Wasn't this cruel and unusual? He'd just gotten engaged - he, Chuck Bass! - and he couldn't even be inside of his soon-to-be-wife on the very same night that it happened. This had to be a crime, punishable, but not in the way that would have her writhing and gasping beneath him. When she pulled away from the kiss, he took a deep breath, his burning lungs thanking him for the replenishment, and he pushed a few tendrils of hair away from her beautiful, shining face.

"I love you, Blair Waldorf," he said, voice thick and gravelly. "And I swear I'll give you everything you ever wanted and more." He pressed his mouth to hers once more, suckling gently on her bottom lip as his tongue slowly and skillfully worked past it. "But tomorrow night," he murmured, pushing his forehead against hers. "I will make love to my fiancee," he said seriously, slanted eyes flashing.

Blair inwardly cursed herself for having banned sex for the night, but she knew they'd have more _fun_ if they waited until after the Saints and Sinners' Ball, and after they took down their three biggest enemies (excluding Jack Bass, of course). As soon as breathing was becoming and issue, Blair pulled back and smiled, "I love you, Chuck Bass." She murmured, unable to express in words how ecstatic she was. "And I can't wait to be your _wife_." Her words were soft, but she spoke them wholeheartedly, and her eyes exuded more love and adoration than they had her entire life—that, she was sure of.

Blair smiled against his lips as she lazily kissed him, as if they had all the time in the world (which currently, they _did_). Thoughts of scheming and socially destructing Jenny, Vanessa, and Juliet were pushed to the back of her mind—to be thought of later, when she wasn't wrapped up in the arms of her fiancé.

"You know, Bass, I wouldn't have ever said no sex if I would've known…" there was a mischievous glint in her eyes, and she pulled back from him, hands propping her up on either side on his head, her chocolate brown hair hanging in curtains around her face. "I guess I'll just have to find some _other _way to thank you for the beautiful ring…" a smirk tugged on her lips as she leaned down, her lips leaving open-mouthed kisses against his neck, one of her hands tugging at the collar of his shirt as she tried to gain access to more of his skin.

Chuck glared at her, actually _glared._ It wasn't exactly like he'd planned this, either - but he supposed he might not want to say that. Even if he _had_ planned it, however, she still wouldn't have known. Whatever grand, romantic, over-the-top gesture he'd cook up would have been completely hidden from her to catch her off guard, as much as this had surprised her if not more so. It served her right, he decided, for banning sex from the menu. She'd regret it, he thought sullenly, even if he did love her in every other way possible. A lewd little smirk pulled at his mouth as he stared up at her, enraptured with the being that rested above him. His eyes fell shut and his jaw tensed when her kisses moved slightly lower, and he swallowed hard at the bursts of electricity her sweet mouth elicited.

Blair felt like she never had in her life at this moment, so overjoyed she could barely contain herself. On top of that, she could feel the emotions radiating off of Chuck, she could sense that he felt the same way, and she mentally began imagining their life together. Waking up with him every morning, making love before going to work, texting him dirty thoughts during the day, and of course, regular reservations at their favorite restaurants. She looked forward to all the high society parties where she'd introduce herself as Blair Bass, and maybe, _possibly_, even a child. She'd even already picked out the perfect name for a girl—Audrey. Blair pushed her hips into his, seeking friction, the thin barrier of her lacy black La Perlas making her every motion just that much more sensitive.

_"Blair!" _Even through the material of Chuck's pants, his length was starting to strain to reach her, and he found himself giving a short, shallow thrust upwards, hitting her center through his clothes.

Blair audibly groaned, she could feel just how hard he was beneath his pants, something she _almost_ wished she didn't know. After all, this make-out session couldn't turn into sex...at least _intercourse_. Blair continued un-buttoning his shirt, revealing the full expanse of his chest to her. She immediately kissed a trail down his skin, shuffling backwards to accommodate, before her hands began un-buckling and un-buttoning his pants. She didn't say a word, instead prayed that Nate was not coming home any time soon, and freed Chuck from the confines of his slacks, a groan of relief coming from one very turned on Chuck. Her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips, a teasing gesture, and Chuck pushed his hand through her hair as if to warn her that if she weren't careful he could take her whether she wanted him to or not. It was a pointless threat, though, because they both knew he'd never actually dream of doing that to her and he'd be helplessly at her mercy until she was good and ready.

"Aren't you glad," she murmured, her breath hot against him, "We didn't go _out_ for dinner?" She smirked, her thumb brushing against the head of his manhood.

Chuck's hand fisted in her hair, sparks shooting up his spine at the teasing sensation.

"This is much better than a lobster pot pie anyways." With that, she wrapped her lips around him, and laved her tongue against his hard flesh, before slowly descending.

When she finally, _finally_ took him into that hot little mouth of hers he groaned lengthily, jaw straining with the effort it took to keep himself in control. "Ye-yes," he agreed, eyes snapping shut tightly. "Fuck… _damn it, Blair!_" He swore when he realized not an inch of him was left uncovered either by the pretty little mouth of hers or that sinful hand, and when he swallowed his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. One would have thought that because she accepted his proposal she would love him, but she was clearly trying to kill him.

His lips mashed together tightly and a groan echoed deep in the base of his throat as the rhythmic pumping of her hand and mouth increased in speed. _Soft_ he thought dazedly. _Soft… warm, wet, wet… slippery, and so fucking…._ It was simultaneously dainty and not dainty – something about her actions bordered on the control that Blair always loved to have, but there was also a reckless abandonment that leaked in when she gave herself over and involved herself fully in this action. It was that involvement that made it such a turn on (besides the fact that he was him, she was her, and she was really, _really_ good at this). He inhaled, a deep, slow breath, nostrils flaring and jaw tensing when she released him, and he looked at her with dark, storming eyes. In this heightened stage of lust, the only bordering on degrading thought he had was the fact that there was something obscenely wrong when her mouth was _talking_ and not sucking him for all he was worth.

"Don't hold back," Blair ordered, before blowing cool air along his manhood, and descending once again, bringing him into the hot depths of her mouth.

Chuck felt like he'd been sucker-punched, and a whooshing sound, somewhere between a grunt and a gasp, forced its way out of him. "Fuck!" he exclaimed as her mouth slid down, down, down his pulsing length, and he gave an almost forceful thrust of his hips; simultaneously, his hold on her hair tightened sharply for a moment to hold her in place. He felt like the intensity was twisting him inside and out, and he only barely managed to release his grip on her slightly. Chuck's hips, however, continued to rock up towards her hot little mouth with short, shallow thrusts. He could feel himself beginning to boil over, could feel the firm plumpness of her lips as her mouth greedily devoured and squeezed around his shaft with that wickedly skillful hand.

"I love you," he heard himself mutter under his breath, eyes falling shut. "I fucking _love_ you. I…" Whatever he said after that was incoherent, lost to the madness that was building in him. His balls were almost painfully tight now, and he could feel… if he could just….

Blair shouldn't have been enjoying this as much as she was, that she knew for sure. She could feel an uncomfortable throb in her nether regions every time his hips pushed upward, every time his hold tightened on her hair. The wetness pooling in her La Perlas signaled just how much she was enjoying sucking and licking his hard length—something she could never foresee herself liking (only him). Her tongue alternated running across his length and swirling around his head, her hand experimented with faster paces, and tighter grips. Blair moaned around him, sending vibrations along his erection, her plump limps bee-stung from all the friction, and yet she couldn't get enough of him.

It happened before Chuck could even register he'd tipped over – one hand held her fast and the other was in a tight fist, pressed against his forehead. "Damn it, _Blair!_" he shouted her name hoarsely, pushing upwards as hot spurts of his sticky seed were released into her throat. He groaned lengthily and his eyes flew open against the suddenly harsh lighting of his penthouse (though it hadn't changed one bit) and he fought to get control of his breath and body once again.

Blair greedily swallowed every last drop, before slowly helping him down, her mouth and hand slowing their movements. Gently, Blair pulled back, licking her lips from any of his essence that clung to them. She never could get enough. A grin crossed Blair's features at the image in front of her. Chuck Bass, half naked on the couch, hair messed up, chest slightly heaving, face blushed.

She slowly crawled back up his body, supporting herself by placing her hands on either side of his head, "Have I mentioned lately that I love the ring?" She leaned down slightly to kiss him before pulling back after a few seconds, "Oh, and you of course." She smirked, before descending again to kiss him, his taste mixing as her tongue slipped into his mouth.

Slowly Chuck uncurled his stiffened fingers in her hair so his grip wasn't quite so harsh, but he didn't relinquish it completely, and his thumb began stroking against the silken strands, a default expression of his appreciation when his mind was otherwise too wiped to say anything as he returned her kiss in full. He could taste the sweetness of her mouth mixed with his essence, but he wasn't the least bit perturbed by it. He was man enough to take it, and anyone who wasn't was a sorry excuse for one - besides, how many times had he kissed her heatedly after she'd come to completion? Fair was fair.

One of his hands subtly slid to her thigh and worked its way under her dress, finding its way to the black La Perlas. "I think," he husked, breaking the kiss only slightly. "My favorite part," he stroked his fingers against the front of the underwear, making Blair tense with anticipation, "is how _wet_ you get from having your mouth around me."

_I swear, Basstard, if you don't—_her thought was cut off when his thick digits snaked past her thong, brushing against her warm folds that were just begging for attention, Chuck leering at her in the most wicked and triumphant of ways when he found her center soaked for him. At the sudden contact, Blair's hips pushed against his hand, seeking more. "_Chuck_," his name fell from her swollen lips as her teeth gently grazed across her bottom one. Blair Waldorf wasn't used to _waiting_ for her own release.

Chuck stroked against her slit lightly, teasing her, watching her carefully, and reveling in the smooth heat he was feeling. "What do you want, Blair?" he asked, voice light. Mean, perhaps, but he wanted to hear her say it. If this was all they were going to get tonight, he'd damn well make it as powerful as if they went the whole nine yards.

Blair swallowed, unsure of how to tell him without being as crude as she knew he wanted her to be. "I want," she husked, slowly sitting up and reaching behind herself to pull down the zipper of her royal blue dress (and now her most coveted item of clothing—next to her slip she wore at Victrola). "You…" she continued hesitantly, lifting the blue material from her body and tossing it off the couch, "to make me _come_." She knew her request wasn't going to be specific enough to her Basshole of a fiancé, but her confidence was wearing thin.

Chuck's fingers slid smoothly over her entrance, but never once did they probe inside of her tight center, not even when her hips pushed against his seeking fingers. It was torture, just as much for him as it was for her! He liked nothing better than the feeling of her walls squeezing down harshly around his fingers while she panted and moaned, squirming uncontrollably (except for, perhaps, the feeling of her clamping over his length, but seeing as that was currently out of commission…).

Giving her obstacles was also part of the reason why he liked to try to pull and tease the filthiest desires from her mouth. It was fun (pure fun, this time) to watch the light go off in her eye when she got furious with him for asking it, fun to watch her not want to back down from the challenge but not quite be able to figure out how to meet it. One of these days, he mused while circling his fingers, wet with her juices, round and around the tiny bundle of nerves over her entrance, she would figure out that she could say anything and he would comply with it because he would find it to be so endearingly enticing coming from her mouth in the height of lust.

She could say she wanted him to take her while wearing nothing but a pair of purple-polka-dotted socks and he would do it. He couldn't stop the small twitch of his mouth at the image that popped into his head, and he pressed his thumb to her clit to refocus himself. A moment later, his mouth was dry and his eyes were heavy, unabashedly focused on the heaving motions of her pert breasts. Shamelessly, the hand that wasn't otherwise occupied trailed up over her soft, smooth stomach and pushed higher until it rested over her one of her breasts, and he relished the feel of the soft weight against his palm. He chuckled low in his throat and he slid his fingers slowly inside of her.

"How?" he asked lazily, pulling his fingers out and pushing them in with languid strokes. "Just like this?" he rubbed over her clit with his thumb. "Or would you like something _else_ of me?" he inquired lazily, licking his lips.

He was torturing her. It wasn't fair! Sure, Blair might have done a little teasing earlier, but…damnit she wanted to _come_ already! (Blair Waldorf wasn't exactly a patient person). His words were soft, but she heard the challenging edge behind his question. For a moment, Blair had an inner struggle—why was she so nervous to ask Chuck to do what she wanted? Here she was, straddling his hips, naked except some lacy black panties, writhing and moaning on top of him in the harsh lighting of his penthouse, and she was afraid to ask him to...Blair paused. She was a Waldorf, soon to be Bass. A Waldorf always wins, and a Bass never loses.

"Chuck," she managed to whisper, her hooded eyes gazing down at him, "I want you to," she got out again, allowing herself to be filled with the confidence that being the queen of Manhattan gave her, "_fuck_ me with your tongue, and let me _come_ all over your mouth and chin." She practically blushed when the filthy words left her lips, but she tried to hold back. This was the love of her life, her fiancé, there was no need to be embarrassed. The rush of excitement that filled her from the sexual command, however, was inspiring. _No wonder Chuck is so demanding_.

Chuck's next thrust of his fingers was a bit rougher than before, a signal he was caught off guard that she'd actually complied to his basstard demands. And in a way that was so damn _hot_, too! What had he done to deserve all this good fortune in one measly night? The surprise he felt left him with a delayed reaction time, and it took him a moment to do anything but appear incredibly aroused and _smug_. In the next minute, though, his reflexes had kicked in - he sat up completely, quickly, and fused his mouth with hers, pushing his tongue into her mouth and claiming it with powerful strokes of his tongue. He reversed their positions in the next moment, so she was the one on her back, and he broke the kiss, attaching his lips to her neck instead.

"My fiancee," he grunted low against her skin as he kissed a path down the creamy column of her neck down onto the graceful line of her collar bone. "is so fucking," he nipped just between her breasts as he slithered lower down her body, readjusting himself as he went, "_hot_ when she orders me around." She was the only one he _would_ let order him around. The lace of her panties against his hand, coarse in comparison to the softness his fingers were buried in, reminded him that his task faced one barrier. Muttering profanities under his breath he removed his fingers from her heat and hooked them into the edges of her underwear and pulled them off her legs - he should probably limit the number of pairs he ruined in a week.

Once the offending garment was gone, however, he parted her legs and slung one over his shoulder while pushing the other gently open. Soft butterfly kisses were pressed over her stomach and he trailed these gently to the inside of her thighs. "Beautiful," he said, more to himself than to her. Soon his path had taken him to both his and her desired location, and without preamble he opened his mouth and stroked over her entrance, stealing every bit of wetness that had seeped from her. "So good," he groaned against her, letting one of his thumbs circle around her clit in a steady rhythm. "You taste so…." His words were lost amid a grunt as he pushed his tongue past her opening with ease.

"Chuck!" Blair gasped loudly, before sliding her hands roughly into his hair, letting him know that he wasn't allowed to leave that spot—she didn't care if the Empire caught fire or Nate walked in on them. Blair watched, mesmerized, as he worked his magic, muscles turning to mush as she fought to keep her head up. "_Yes_," she encouraged through a moan, gently bucking her hips up at attempt to get more of his eager mouth on her.

He groaned slowly and lengthily, sending out vibrations against her-_That's my girl-_as his thumb ran tight circles around her clit and he exhaled sharply through his nose, sending a burst of air over her soaked womanhood. He met her eyes with a strong stare as he moved the hand that had been holding one of her thighs open - it disappeared under his chin, and seconds later two of his fingers were sliding in under his tongue, stretching her open.

An encouraging moan slipped from Blair's lips, her back only slightly arching up off the cushions, her fingers tightening in his hair as if to tell him that she like what he was doing to her. Then again, how could he not know? Chuck Bass knew _every_ little trick to making Blair come. She gently rolled her hips in time with his fingers, eyes stamped shut as her body neared completion.

A moment later, Chuck pulled his tongue out, lips shining from all that was her, and he licked away to remove the evidence, a dark, almost dangerous look in his eyes. His thrusting fingers curled upwards and pressed in several times on _that spot_, a look of amusement that only a basshole would wear plastered all over his strong features.

"You're _so_…" he plucked her clit into his mouth with his lips and sucked at the tiny bud fiercely, running his tongue over it in a contrastingly lazy way. "Wet," he finished quietly, releasing his hold onto to press his tongue onto it in a firm lick as his fingers continued an alternating thrusting and curling pattern, occasionally curling his fingers as he withdrew so as to achieve both tasks in one motion. "I could make you _come_ like this twice," he mused, the words somewhere between a suggestion and a threat that made even his spine tingle at the images they evoked. "It would be easy," he flicked at the raised pink bundle, "to just keep going even when you're already _screaming_ my name and dripping everywhere." His fingers pressed right into the spot they'd been teasing and held without release, simply pumping against it. "It's not like I have anything _else_ to do with you after this," he smirked, "and I want to hear my fiancee be brought pleasure by my doing." He blew lightly across her clit before, "Come, Blair," he said sharply, a hint of desperation on the edges of his voice - he, too, was being worn thin with his mouth and fingers buried in her. He suckled the swollen bud into his mouth, groaning greedily against it, as if trying to get as much of her taste into his mouth as possible

The curling of his fingers, combined with the sensual edge to his voice, and firm strokes of his tongue had Blair's breath coming out in short hot pants. It wasn't until he took her clit back into his mouth and groaned around it that she finally tipped over the edge, body becoming taught as a bow as she climaxed, "_Chuckchuckchuckchuck! Yes!_" she nearly shrieked, her essence spilling out around his fingers, her hips riding out her orgasm against his mouth and chin, just as she'd demanded.

Chuck grunted and his tongue went to work, licking around his fingers that were still absorbing the clamping aftershocks of her orgasm. Slowly, reluctantly, he removed them before relocating his mouth to the inside of her thigh and pressing a haphazard kiss there before moving up her body - hip, stomach, ribcage, breast, collarbone, neck, and then he was bracing himself carefully against the part of the couch that her hair wasn't splayed over. Grabbing her chin with a gentle force, he kissed her deeply, both claiming her and giving himself away. "Perfect," he said when he broke the kiss, promptly stealing another one. "You," he kissed her jaw - he was so overcome with _everything_ that he couldn't stop touching her, "are _Perfect."_

Blair gently lifted her dainty hand, and cupped the side of his face, "It may have been said," she boasted, though she was short of breath, pulling back from his wandering lips that peppered her jaw to snatch a kiss of her own, "But you, Chuck, are perfect as well." Another quick kiss, "After all, you're my amazing fiancé who follows my every command." After a moment she added, "Just like any good king should do for his queen."

"Not _every_ command," he corrected her, nipping gently at her plump lower lip and then running his tongue along the offended spot. "I'd never give you a divorce, no matter how many lawyers you hire or servants you blackmail." His voice was light, humorous, but underneath that layer it took a sharp dive into nothing but the utmost sincerity, and his eyes burned with it. Because he could easily see it happening - he would do something stupid, the greatest blunder or offensive word, and she would sweep out of whatever penthouse they settled in, be it his, hers, or another one entirely, hurling icy insults and calling her lawyer in one breath. She could threaten all she wanted, though, he'd never sign any damn piece of paper, never go quietly with mediations. He figured that much was implied, but it was only fair to give her warning. Not that she could back out even now, though; that ring was on her finger for good, as far as he was concerned, and it didn't get taken off until he had to slide a wedding band on before it.

"It's settled then," she responded softly, hands gently tracing the outlines of his masculine face, the one she'd come to memorize perfectly over the years, "Since I will never be asking for one." She paused momentarily, before, "So I may have been led astray a few times in the past…but don't worry Bass, this time we're doing it right. I have no other desires than to be with you, ruling the masses from the top of our Empire."

Chuck heard a sound in the background, and suddenly he wanted to throw every cell phone, computer, and anything else they would get messages on out the window. Could they not have five minutes of peace? (He didn't count the extended amount of time they'd both spent absorbed in each other as _peace_ - not with the draining exertion they'd both put into making sure the other was _satisfied_.) Then again, they had the rest of their lives to get peace - with his fortune he could have them whisked away from civilization at the drop of a hat, out of reach of Gossip Girl, Jenny Humphrey, and all the Brooklyn that came with her.

Just as one of his hands was starting to wander subtly along her smooth skin once again, a shrill ringing interrupted him. He groaned and dropped his head dropped to rest in the juncture between her shoulder and neck. After a few seconds when it didn't cease, he pushed himself up and grabbed the phone from the other side of the couch.

Blair sat up, a pout on her lips from the loss of contact with her fiance, before reaching for the blue dress she'd only so recently discarded, and slipping into it. She didn't even bother with her La Perlas—they had been stretched beyond uselessness when Chuck had impatiently pulled them off her.

"Yes?" he said tersely. He blinked a few times before nodding. "Alright. Have it brought up in ten minutes." He hung up the phone and rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Mike faxed over a hardcopy of the information he's found so far," he explained.

Blair cocked her head towards him, nodding, and reaching for her own cell phone (which had somehow ended up on the floor).

"I suppose that's our cue to keep our hands to ourselves until we go to bed," he said lewdly.

"Or for as long as you can behave yourself." She added, almost nonchalantly, gently combing her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame the curls that had become tangled in all of her previous writhing.

Her phone buzzed again, and she rolled her eyes, finally flipping the annoying contraption open while Chuck stood and pulled the boxers and trousers that she'd eagerly done away with up to rest around his waist again, and he deftly fastened his Italian leather belt once more. . There were a few posts from Gossip Girl, all of them about her best friend, Serena. Blair's brows furrowed as she read the blasts—the first displayed an image of Colin and Serena kissing, the caption stating "_Looks like the VDW is hot for teacher._" The next post, however, said that the two of them had broken up. There was also a text message from her best friend on Blair's phone, the message long and from a number Blair didn't recognize;

**B, IDK what 2 do. Ended it w/Colin, the dean knows, & now I'm stuck b/w D and N! Help!**

"You underestimate me, Waldorf," Chuck drawled once he'd fixed his clothes, "and perhaps overestimate yourself," his eyes were peering intently at her beneath his lashes. "You're so sure it won't be you to lose control?" He reached out and brushed his fingers under her soft chin, the pads of his digits caressing the soft curve of her jaw while his thumb brushed over her full bottom lip. "You know I like to make you go first." His eyes glinted wickedly with the clear implication.

Chuck was doing nothing but offering Blair a challenge. From this point until they went to bed, Blair wouldn't be laying down a single polished finger on her fiancé, just because he suggested that she'd "overestimated" herself. _Pompous basshole_. She sent an innocent smile his way, and simply stated, "We'll see about that, _Charles_." A beat later she handed over her phone with the blasts open on the screen. "Someone posted pictures of Serena and Colin," she explained, "Can't say I didn't warn her—she never listens to me! The good thing is that he quit before the pictures were blasted for every student and staff member at Columbia to see. However, with the whole sex for grades scandal, they're both going to be questioned by the dean."

Blair sighed when the elevator dinged, and she took her phone back, continuing to explain as Chuck retrieved the manila envelope from the hotel employee, "But apparently, S and Colin broke up, and now she's stuck between choosing Nate and Dan." Blair rolled her eyes, sitting back into the couch, "I swear, Serena is the most indecisive person I have _ever met. _Isn't the choice obvious? The one that, oh say…isn't her_ _step-brother?!" __Blair quickly snapped her phone shut, deciding that she wouldn't be responding to Serena just yet. She had more important things to worry about, such as digging up dirt on the three annoying girls who tried to tear Chuck and Blair apart—a deadly mistake that they'd be regretting for awhile. Blair stood and walked around the table, reaching the cart filled with food that had been otherwise forgotten, and (following Chuck's example), picked some fruit off the cart and popped it in her mouth.

Chuck could practically taste the leather of the Louboutin that would be thrown at his head if he so much as dared to breathe a whisper of that speech to his step-sister. "Serena's spent too much time in the outer boroughs," Chuck reasoned with Blair, grabbing another piece of fruit and chewing it thoughtfully as he moved to sit down on the couch. "Her palate isn't as refined as ours. She actually might think there's a decision to be made between Humphrey and Nate." His brow furrowed in thought as he idly opened the manila envelop in front of him. His focus soon shifted completely, however, from his concern for his best friend's future romantic scuffles to the pictures he held in his hand. They were grainy, but Juliet was visible outside of a building that Chuck knew for a fact was inhabited by one Colin Forrester. During his brief vendetta against Blair, he'd had all the faculty of Columbia that she would be in touch with checked out, including their residences, and the picture in front of him was exactly like one that he'd discarded days ago. "Blair," he muttered her name, flipping through to the next page that had Juliet's name printed across the top along with basic information, including…. "You'll never guess who our favorite person is related to."

Blair set down the leafy end of the strawberry, and took the papers, nonchalantly reading over the page entitled "Juliet Sharp". Her eyes immediately went to relatives before her eyes bugged, and she shouted, "Those conniving little insects!" She stared at one of the photos for a moment, before her face screwed up with disgust, "This means...oh my god! Colin has been cheating on Serena with his...relative?! What hole did Juliet climb out of and how can we shove her and Colin back in there?" With a frustrated sigh, she moved to the couch and sat down next to Chuck, slightly leaning over him to look at the pictures in his hands. She shook her head slowly, giving him back the papers. "We need to figure out a plan of attack. First of all, we need them all to be on the guest list to the Saints and Sinners Ball." She stood back up and began pacing, that scheming Waldorf mind of hers hard at work, "Assuming they show up, we'll let everyone at the Ball…meaning everyone in Manhattan, know all of their secrets, assuming there is more within those papers." She paused, "But we have to wait for them to attack us or Serena first."

Blair could see it all unfolding right in front of her eyes—the three girls showing up to the ball, laying down a well-planned attack on Chuck and Blair, only to have it thrown right back at them, with no rebound since they hadn't anticipated them knowing. The looks on their faces would be priceless, and no doubt Penelope would take a snapshot to post to Gossip Girl. The three of them would leave, escorted by security, and Chuck and Blair would spend the rest of the night celebrating with bottles of Dom and soaring hotel reservations. The idea was too sweet in her mind, too thought out, and too perfect. However, it was something that she wanted more than anything, to succeed. There had been too much pain in their relationship thus far, and adding on a public takedown in which they had no protection, wasn't on her to-do list.

"Perhaps we should attach a stipend to their invitation, to be paid when they arrive," he said, a hint of a judgmental sneer in his voice. "Brooklyn never can resist money, no matter how close to the top they've climbed." His focus was hers again when her pacing stopped abruptly and she was facing him, her words lacking the edge that they typically held when she was getting ready to strike down an opponent.

"Chuck, are you sure you're up for this? I know this ball is supposed to be your…promoter. I don't want some silly scandal getting in the way of your success." Her words were soft and serious, something rare coming from Blair when she was mid-scheme. However, she'd messed up his Empire enough, and she wasn't planning on hurting it anymore.

His gaze darkened momentarily, a shadow of concern haunting his eyes. Blair had a point, and he couldn't say it hadn't crossed his mind. This party was his way of relaunching himself into the business world, of rebranding his image as someone larger-than-life with unique opportunities within his businesses. This was his way of cleaning up after he'd nearly lost the Empire during his brief stint as Henry Prince, not to mention the damage that had happened to Victrola and the Palace. If this wasn't successful, his hope of turning a profit before 21 was all but gone, and if he wasn't careful so were all his other chances at being legitimate. He'd still be rich, no doubt, and could live off well-placed investments, but he wanted more. More for himself, but more for Blair, too. She deserved to have someone respectable at her side, and to have that respect demonstrated in the way his businesses were run. But there were some things that were more important….

"They tried to take you away from me," he said, voice deceptively quiet. Although his voice was steady, his undertones rang with nothing but concentrated anger. "They tried to push us apart, and it's time a message be sent so anyone else who tries will know what happens to them." Subconsciously, he realized he was talking about more people than Juliet, Jenny, and Vanessa. "Besides," his lips quirked into a smirk, finally. "Nothing is better for publicity than a little scandal running rampant."

Blair's immediate response was to cross the room and wrap her arms around him, to tell him she was his and wasn't ever going to not be. She didn't, and instead stood frozen across from him, refusing to return his gentle smirk. She simply nodded, and continued pacing, hiding her concern through an additional plot idea, "I'll call Serena tomorrow and bring her up to speed on the plan—at least inform her of what we've found out." Blair wrung her hands in front of her, a sparkle catching her eyes as she glanced down to admire the ring that donned her finger, still so foreign that it gave her butterflies whenever she saw it, a reminder of her future (_their_ future). A soft smile broke out on her features at this, and she turned towards him once again.

"When do you want to announce…us?" She asked, changing the topic once more. She was almost positive that he would leave the decision up to her, but they weren't separate anymore. They were no longer Chuck Bass and Blair Waldorf. They were engaged. Soon to be Mr. and Mrs. Bass.

Chuck looked up and followed her lien of vision down to the ring that glittered miraculously on her finger, and he found his own lips curving upwards in a softened expression of the smirk that had previously occupied his mouth. "You know I'd call every media outlet in the city right this moment if I didn't think it would potentially ruin whatever grand coming-out-plan you have in mind." It was true, really; he had considered picking up his phone and contacting every major office in the city, from the Time Warner Center less than ten blocks away, to NBC studios in Rockefeller Center. "We could do it tomorrow if that's what you want," his eyes glinted with a touch of humor, "it might be appropriate since I am the devil and you're my queen." He leaned back against the couch. "Or," he continued, "we could hold onto it and hold a party of our own, just for us. I know how much you like to be the center of attention." He chuckled at the light-hearted jab he threw in her direction.

Blair's soft smile turned to a grin, and she rounded the table to Chuck, taking a seat next to him on his red couch. "Tomorrow would be perfect," she paused, "After what happened at my birthday party, I think that waiting would be more dangerous. People might find a way to use it against us, and that's the _last_ thing we need." She cleared her throat, "_And _it would make _your_ Ball more focused on our relationship, because you know how selfish I can be." She retorted with a wicked smile, before leaning in and stealing a kiss. "And since I'm so _selfish_…" she continued, plucking the file from his hands and placing it on the coffee table, "I'm going to force you to come to bed with me, whether you want to or not."

"Force away." He stood when she pulled on him and allowed her to lead him back towards the bedroom, watching her intently. This, he knew, was a scene that would repeated countless times over the next many years. He couldn't wait.

He stepped inside the room, closing the doors behind them, and when he turned around he was horrified to find that he was done for. The gorgeous, intelligent, sadistic woman who had agreed to marry him was now exposing inch after inch of her creamy back, and the dark blue dress was falling to the ground, with nothing he could do to stop it. And she wasn't wearing _anything_ underneath. His eyes were trained on her as she pulled back the sheets and slipped gracefully in between them.

"You coming, Bass?" She questioned, quirking an eyebrow at him nearly teasingly, though the most teasing part about it was that she'd banned sex until the next night. However, the way Blair saw it, tomorrow would be perfect. They'd come home after his Ball that she knew would be successful, a victory under their belt, and slightly buzzed from an excess of champagne flutes. And being deprived of each other for so long, they'll tear away at their clothes until he's buried deep inside of her and she's crying out in ecstasy. While the interim would be near painful, she knew that the end result would be worth it in the long run.

"_No,_" he said, voice surly and sounding near pain, "I'm _not._" He plucked at his shirt buttons then and bit by bit he was losing the high-priced articles of clothing to the floor. Housekeeping could clean them up and iron them out in the morning and they'd be as good as new, he decided lazily. In defiance, he went to his drawer and pulled out a silk pair of pajamas and quickly donned them, smirking to himself as he went. She might torture him with an excess of skin, but he would reverse the tables by being a _nun_ until tomorrow night. If she could deal it, she had to take it, too. Finally, he turned towards her and returned to the bed, joining her under the sheets. Chuck tipped her chin up lightly and placed a soft, yet lingering, kiss on her mouth. "Love you." He murmured the words quietly before settling in.

Blair smiled and murmured, "I love you," before closing her eyes, and gently drifting into a peaceful sleep curled up in the arms of her fiance.

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><p><strong>AN: Well, what did you think of their restricted "engagement sex"? Not too shabby while still following Blair's rule. Also, how do you think things will pan out at the Saints and Sinners Ball? Only two more chapters (actually, only two), before everything is revealed. I'm very excited to see your reactions! Speaking of reactions...**

**A HUGE AMAZING THANK YOU TO ALL WHO REVIEWED, AND THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN REVIEWING THE WHOLE TIME! As promised, the more reviews, the more incentive we have to post updates faster. I absolutely LOVE reading your comments. To those who have been reading and enjoying themselves...please take a moment to write us your thoughts about our fic!  
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**Special thanks to: Natalie2010, Joy, xyz0896, Dr. Holland, May, Grace and louboutinlove for your kind words! I hope you enjoy our update, and look forward to the last two chapters!  
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**So, please...REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! It will only take you a few moments, and it's well worth it, because we absolutely L-O-V-E reading them, and they totally inspire and motivate us! So, thank you in advance! If I could give you all hugs, and Chuck Bass kisses, I would. Sadly, you'll just have to settle for my thank yous and our smut. xD  
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	16. Souvenirs éternels

**A/N: Us again! C here, apologizing for the delay in posting. We've both been muddling our way through life (school, work, Gossip Girl premiere... the usual), and I'm actually not at home at the moment. B, however, insisted that we edit, and re-edit, and post a chapter, and I agreed. So, without further ado, chapter 16! We do want to remind you all that this is an AU story. The big plot theme was also born at a time of frustration for us CBers, and we wanted to have a little bit of fun with an... unconventional villain that doesn't technically plague the GG universe at large. This time, though... well, you'll see. ;)**

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><p>The next morning, Blair awoke with a start—there was so much to do today, and so little time to do it. She laid a gentle kiss onto Chuck's lips before slipping from the bed, and leaving a note on the pillow beside him—<em>Went to get breakfast. Be back soon! –B.<em>

After she returned with fresh croissants, coffee, and fruit from her favorite café, she went about preparing for the Ball. Taking her bags which she'd brought the night before, Blair went back to her penthouse and began getting ready—calling a hair stylist, manicurist, and make-up artist to assist her. Once she was fully done up, she slipped into her clothes for the night; a creamy white one shoulder gown, which hitched on one side to show a lot of leg (and the tops of her black stockings), a pair of black Louboutin pumps, and last but not least, her mask (underneath it all was the deep red lingerie she'd shown Chuck the day before). Her outfit had been based on the idea that she was an angel, drawn to the dark side by her fiancé, and the devil himself, Chuck. With a few extra swipes of her red lipstick, Blair left the penthouse, and made her way back across the city to where the Ball would be hosted. From the looks of it, everything had been set up according to plan. Everyone who was anyone had shown up for the lavish event, and it thrilled Blair that she got to say her fiancé was the man who made it all happen.

Blair walked towards the entrance with confidence, realizing that she was a tad on the late side (but it's not like it mattered—she was always fashionably late), and noticed Serena waiting next to the bouncer with an annoyed look on her face.

"Serena?" Blair questioned as she approached, curiosity drawn across her features.

"B! I'm so glad you're here!" Serena exclaimed, hugging her best friend. Blair looked between the blonde and security, "What's going on?"

Serena sighed, "He says that unless I show him I.D. I can't go inside. Apparently someone posed as me and went in."

Blair looked at the bouncer with an annoyed expression, "This is Serena van der Woodsen—I suggest you start learning to recognize those of the social elite. Chuck is _not_ going to be happy."

He simply looked at her and stated, "Unless you're Mr. Bass or K.C. I can't let her in. Sorry." Blair stomped past the guard, yelling over her shoulder that she'd find Chuck and get Serena inside.

Blair was impressed by the number of people filling the large venue, and by the inappropriate (and probably illegal) acts taking place on the floor. She smiled, and was quickly reminded of Victrola. Her eyes searched the crowd for her fiancé—a tough job when you don't know what he's wearing, and everyone is wearing a mask. Blair pushed through the crowd, and somehow ended up in the middle of everything. However, a grin appeared across her features—it was going to be a _very_ interesting night, and she couldn't wait for it to begin.

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><p>Chuck's vision was only slightly obscured by the mask that was tightly secured over his face. He could have been blind, though, and he would have known this was what success was. <em>So this<em>, he thought, practically feeling his chest swell with pride, _is what it's like to be at the top._ He could, of course, point out to himself that he was Chuck Bass, and that his name enough was all it took to put him at an advantage. While that was true, though, even he had to admit that in life, there was a success that didn't come from a name. It was _that _success that made Big Bad Bart Bass exactly who he was, and that was the type that Chuck was striving for. His name might get him there, but in the end he needed it to be his own. Within the past twenty-four hours, his success had increased phenomenally; to top off the fact that even though he wasn't yet twenty-years-old, and owner of a business that, especially after tonight, would be tremendously successful, he was now engaged to Blair Waldorf. So, with the love of his life secured - so-to-speak - and his business booming, this had to be the cherry on top. This was success oozing from every minuscule inch of the entire building. So much so that it was almost disgusting. The music thudded straight into the floor, up into his feet, and right through his body; in other words, it was perfect. The guest list was wonderfully exclusive; only anybody who was anybody was there, along with those scant nobodies who were only good for causing scandals. He hadn't been kidding when he'd told Blair there was no better publicity than a scandal.

The theme, though… that had to be the best part. It was dark, dangerous, mysterious, and yet somehow it had the capability of reeling people in against their better judgment. That much was evident by the debauchery he witnessed going on around him. As he strolled through the packed venue, he smirked, occasionally craning his head when he caught sight of a display that seemed of particular interest to his more lecherous side. It had to be the masks, he smirked to himself. Coupled with the lighting and the temptation of darkness…. He chuckled low to himself. It had quickly moved from a Saints and Sinners party to a Sinners one where everyone tallied up their greatest wrongs and held them against each other's until there was a winner. He supposed he'd have to make himself exempt from that, or else it wouldn't be fair.

A pale flash of skin - a lot of skin - caught his eye and behind the mask his eyes narrowed in satisfaction. There would be one other person that would have to be exempt from it, now that it was brought to his attention. He would recognize that leg anywhere, as well as the rest of the body that it was attached to. It would, after all, be wrapped around him tonight while he drove in and out of her at a forceful pace. Or, maybe, it would be over his shoulder, he thought as he stealthily crept through the crowd to reach his Fallen Angel. It was with great difficulty that he put his thoughts away and quieted down some of the more graphic ones completely - this was what happened when he was forced to go an entire day without her.

"If this is the dress you're planning to wear down the aisle," he spoke low in her ear once he'd approached her, hand grazing her leg while he referenced the color of the dress, "then I say less is more." He finished the statement with a lewd grin that peeked out from just beneath his mask.

Blair's breath hitched, feeling even more alert than she was before. "You know," she responded softly, slightly turning her head towards him, her hand resting on his and gently guiding it to where her stocking ended and the soft skin of her thigh was peeking out from behind the dress, "I have a fiancé, a _very powerful_ one, and I don't think he'd be too happy to see me with another man."

His fingertips curled slowly in against the flesh in a greedy, possessive way as she spoke. "I promise you," his voice was lofty, "whoever he is," his eyes bore into hers even from behind their masks, "I'm better." His voice ended in a hush and he traced two tiny letters across her smooth skin with his index finger. _C B._ Branding her invisibly with his initials for only them to know.

"In fact…" she continued, slowly leading his hand across her skin and up, up, up, dragging it across her body until it was over her head, using the position to turn in his arms, "This entire Ball is in his honor." She began to gently sway them to the beat of the sultry music, completely forgetting the fact that she'd come in search of Chuck to rescue Serena and get her inside. Besides, she could've sworn she just saw a tall blonde in Serena's dress passing them. Blair's mask was tight and slightly uncomfortable—she usually preferred a wand (since the masks that needed to be tied often left little red marks on her face), but she would much rather stay concealed and mysterious tonight. It was their night.

A quiet, "My, my," left his mouth and he found his hand dipping lower, sliding smoothly just atop the curve of her backside. "In that case, I stand corrected. He must be obscenely wealthy and important to earn a celebration as lascivious as this." Lower his hand went, but compared to what the rest of the partygoers were doing, this was tame.

Sunday afternoon family picnic in broad daylight tame.

"And, he has marvelous taste and fortune if he's managed to let someone as magnificent as you capture him. Body, mind, and soul."

Blair licked her ruby-red lips, and then broke out in a smile, bearing her pearly white teeth. Yes, Chuck Bass did indeed know how seduce a lady, but only Blair received it by means of feelings of love. "Body, mind, and soul." She repeated quietly, leaning forward to capture his lips in a searing kiss, as if rewarding him for his poetic words, and agreeing with them wholeheartedly. Slowly, her lips traveled across his jaw and she whispered in his ear, "I guess you were right—you really didn't need clues to find me."

"_Well you look ravishing, if I were your man I wouldn't need clues to find you."_

Chuck smirked slightly, remembering very clearly the moment she was referring to. She had looked simply ravishing that night, and he never did understand how Nate could have been so preoccupied with Serena. Not that he was going to complain; after all, it had all turned out for the better for him. "I could find you blind. Which, I practically am," he conceded, with a light chuckle. "Do we know if everything is in place?" he inquired, referring to the takedown that would make their coming-out as an engaged couple the _perfect_ evening.

"I don't doubt you for a second, Bass," she added, smirking, before, "I'm not sure, I just arrived. I haven't seen any of them here, but they must be lurking somewhere. Oh, and, Serena needed help getting in—" she paused mid sentence, noticing Serena (or what looked to be) over Chuck's shoulder, kissing...Dan. She scrunched up her nose in distaste.

"Nevermind." She quickly concluded, eyes snapping back to Chuck's (at least what she could see of them behind the mask).

Chuck looked over his shoulder, following her line of vision, eyes narrowing in distaste and outright betrayal. She chose _Brooklyn_?! And at _his _party, too? He'd have to inform her that the next time she was going to sink to such levels she could do it at some cheap place for underaged floozies, like 'The Lot'.

He shook his head in disgust and turned back to Blair, mouth opening to make a cutting remark. He never got to make it, though, because what he saw made him freeze.

Blair's head shot to where the DJ's booth was to see none other than Jenny Humphrey herself, microphone in hand. Blair's stomach immediately dropped. She knew whatever the slimy blonde was going to say would be bad.

Well, they'd been right to think that at least one of them was somewhere around the place. Although, he'd have to have a talk with security, because who in their right damn mind had decided it would be appropriate to let Jenny Humphrey anywhere near the DJ? The worst part was, there wasn't anything he could do about it. She was too far away for him to get to her himself, and he couldn't signal to anyone to have her removed. There wasn't _anything_ to do except stand there and watch this unfold with a tight knot in his stomach and his hand fisted against Blair's back. This, he seethed, was the reason she had to be done away with and taught a lesson once and for all. _Jenny Humphrey_ didn't get to humiliate him like this, but more importantly she didn't get to humiliate _Blair_ like this, not tonight, not ever.

"I would like to dedicate this next song to the man being honored tonight. Can we get a spot?" A moment later,there was a bright light shone on Blair and Chuck, everyone surrounding them backing up as if burned, to stare at the couple. "Here's to you, big brother. May you forever be successful." She raised a champagne flute, eyes locking with the Serena look-alike in the crowd and nodding.

A moment later, there was a flurry of loud rings within the crowd. Blair immediate dug into her clutch and fished out her phone, the gossip girl blast nearly burning itself into her memory.

**Looks like New York's best kept secret is finally out. Turns out Little J didn't lose her V-card to Damien Dalgard—she waited, and _Chuck_ed it away with her step-brother. Guess that explains the Humphrey in Hudson. Hell hath no fury like a Waldorf scorned.**

Chuck's jaw clenched as he read the blast over Blair's shoulder. No one had ever known of that darkest hour of his life, and he'd been determined that they never would. It was probably one of the acts that made he, Chuck Bass, feel most ashamed and dirty about his past.

"Blair…." He said her name quietly, tentatively, jaw tense as he watched her for a reaction. He was unsure whether she would stay to fight or flee, and he was further perplexed as to what he'd do if it was the latter.

Blair's brown eyes peeked out from behind her mask, she could feel the weight of everyone's stares, eyes bearing into her like she was an insignificant _nobody_. Her heart thundered loudly in her chest, and she swallowed, mentally trying to decide which course to take.

_Denial_. She could deny the claim and call Humphrey a liar. It was plausible; no one from the UES liked Brooklynites.

_Rebuttal_. Rise to the challenge and attack Jenny, using the information against her.

Blair couldn't pretend like the blast hadn't affected her, and with the blinding spotlight, not one person in the place couldn't see her reaction. Then again…Blair turned to look at Chuck. She was being selfish—he was getting the same heated stares at Blair, she could even hear rude comments being shouted from random party-goers among the crowd (Basstard, MotherChucker - _Sister_Chucker). Infuriated, insulted, and completely renewed with a sense of pride and power, Blair let go of Chuck (who she hadn't realized she was holding on to) and cut across the crowd towards the DJ booth. Jenny Humphrey was standing in front of it, her pale skin over painted with black make-up twisting into a triumphant smile. Blair cut through her with one look, and one sentence, "A great queen always knows how to win back the favor of her people," before stepping up and snatching the microphone.

"Ahem," she said loudly into the device, ignoring the groans of protest and boos from the people among the crowd. She proudly dismissed it, "Cut the music," she demanded, before, "May I have your attention please? Great, thanks—I'd like to say a few words about Chuck Bass. The man who is being honored tonight, and the man who organized this wonderful event for all of you."—silence, a few shouts and claps—"When people think of Chuck Bass, they might say _pig_, _basstard_, or _sex fiend_. And while those all may be true…no one has bothered to take a moment to witness the _new_ Chuck. Yes, there may have been a tiny glitch in the _basshole_ when Eva tried to turn him over to the light side, but everyone knows that _no one_ can be perfect. Chuck Bass by far isn't perfect. And yes, so he may have taken little Jenny Humphrey's virginity last year. But that was the _old_ Chuck, and not to mention…it was little J who showed up at his penthouse, _pleading_ for him, and he hadn't known…no one had known the truth about her then." She took a deep breath, "So, tonight we honor the _greatest edition_ of Chuck Bass. _Powerful_ CEO of Bass Industries, _sinfully_ amazing party planner,"—there was some light laughter in the crowd—"and, _the best _fiancé a girl could ask for." Through all the chaos, Blair managed to spot him in the huddled throng of people, and smiled, while murmurs and gasps broke out everywhere. She was _Blair Waldorf_, damnit, and _no one_ would ruin this night for them.

Determinedly, Chuck pushed his way through the crowd, bumping into several people along the way, but he couldn't be bothered to apologize, not even when a blonde gave him a filthy sneer behind the mask that all but obscured her face completely. He joined his fiancee at the booth and pried the microphone free from her, gently, before plucking up the dainty hand and pressing a soft kiss to the back of her knuckles.

"As much as I would love to take all the glory," he began, eyes not leaving her, "I'm afraid I have to share the honor tonight with _my_ glorious fiancee." He turned towards the crowd, then. "You all answer to her now, and if anyone so much as tries to lay a finger on her, you'll be banned from every club, bar, and hotel I own." His voice was light and there was some laughter through the crowd, but there was sincerity there, too. They all answered to her - including him. He pushed his mask up to his forehead, then, and proceeded to do the same with hers before pressing a searing kiss, full of thanks, to the plump curve of her lips. The vibration in his pocket, however, kept him from making much of a spectacle, and with a reluctant groan he pulled away, grabbing his phone and reading the message.

Music started up again in the next moments, and the party goers returned to dancing, and gossiping about what they'd just seen and heard.

"K.C. needs to see me. She wants to discuss how to 'use' this new piece of information to our benefit," he said, frowning at the thought of their engagement being a tool to help his business. He'd used Blair to secure his success once, but he disliked the thought of doing it again. He was considering staying put, but when his phone buzzed again, he sighed. "Find me if you need my help with anything." Then, he was gone, weaving through the people to find his publicist.

Blair stepped down from the booth after Chuck, and was immediately greeted with Jenny's annoying voice.

"This isn't over Blair," The blonde practically growled, yet Blair didn't let it affect her, and she turned around, smiling.

"That's where you're wrong, Humphrey. It _is_ over, because I've won, and you've lost." The blonde looked confused, so Blair took it on herself to explain, "Look at yourself Jenny. What do you have? A place in Hudson? An estranged family?" she nearly scoffed at the thought, "I have Manhattan. I have friends who'd fight for me, and a fiance who loves me more than anything. When you have any of those things, I might consider you worth the effort. But until then...goodbye little J." Even as she watched the younger girl seething and tearing up, Blair left. She needed to know what happened when someone messed with Blair and Chuck. Spotting a flash of blonde hair and a baby blue dress across the way, Blair made a bee-line to her best friend, who was currently standing next to a table, watching Dan and Nate retreat. As Blair approached, she eyed her best friend carefully, pulling her mask over her head and placing it on the table.

"S?" the blonde turned to glare at Blair.

"What the hell, Blair? I've been standing outside for nearly an hour! And I finally just get in to hear you're engaged? I told you before that I would support you with your decision...but now I'm not so sure." She shook her head slightly and bit her lip before leaving the table, ignoring Blair's pleas for her to stop and listen to her explain. Her voice was soon drowned out by the music, so Blair stopped trying and simply watched her retreating friend, not having noticed the girl who poisoned her mask.

* * *

><p>"There's other things I'd rather be doing right now." Those were the first words out of Chuck's mouth, which was twisted into a surly expression, when he finally found K.C. It was true - he'd rather be popping open a champagne bottle and mingling with his fiancee amongst the rest of the guests, proudly displaying their unity amidst their announcement. Or, even better, stealing away with Blair back to his penthouse and popping champagne with her.<p>

Alone.

Perhaps pouring it onto the slight dip of her stomach and licking it off- He only barely pulled himself back to hear K.C. speak.

"Relax, I'll have you back in the arms of the Misses in no time,_"_ she said with an annoyingly false, sentimental smile. "You've created quite a storm with this news, you know that?"

His eyes flashed but he was careful to keep his face impassive. "I make no apologies for it," he said as he shrugged, "and if anyone I have to work with takes issue with it, then they know where to go." A silent wave of understanding passed between them and Chuck saw the woman bristle with slight indignation before she recovered.

"Yes, well…. Luckily for you, this seems to be quite a hit. Not so much the fact that you've had… 'relations' with your step-sister, but everyone loves a bad boy reformed. That speech your fiancee made certainly helped. We'll need you two to make public appearances together, maybe have her do her own thing. Like Jackie O, but with you more faithful than Jack Kennedy."

To say it was excruciating standing there and pretending like he was thoroughly caught up in this conversation was an understatement. He was perfectly willing to talk strategy, because he _did_ care about the aftermath of this party - it was designed to propel him to new heights, after all. However, he'd been without his fiancee for most of the day. Last he'd seen her, she'd also looked entirely _fuckable_, and the sudden shift towards the dramatics had left what he felt like unfinished business between them. With the event coming to a close, he was eager to find her; so, he finally excused himself from K.C., informing her they could discuss this in the morning, and went in search of his missing fiancee.

Keyword, missing - her dress had been unique and made her easy to spot, but he couldn't find her _anywhere_, even in the gradually thinning crowd. Jaw set in mild frustration, he began to wonder if he shouldn't just go back to the penthouse on the chance that she might have retired there to wait for him.

"Nate," he said, grabbing his best friend, "have you seen Blair?"

The blue eyed man shook his head. "Naw, man. Not since that little spectacle you two pulled," he grinned widely, "So, Chuck Bass is engaged now?"

Despite himself, Chuck spared Nate a genuine smile. "Time to catchup, Archibald. It's a sad day when I'm more committed than you." He pulled his phone out and pressed the 1 key before putting it to his ear and waiting to hear Blair pickup.

* * *

><p><em>Am I drunk?<em> Blair questioned herself as she tried to push through to thick crowd to find Chuck. The room seemed to be spinning, and her eyesight was getting slimmer (with no thanks to the mask that was currently covering her features).

"Chuck?" She called out, near helplessly, as she accidentally stumbled into a nearby couple that was in a heated embrace, annoyed at her interruption. "Sorry," she muttered, struggling to stabilize herself on two feet, her heels all of a sudden seemingly against her. Just when she felt the world around her about to go black, two arms wrapped around her from behind. Initially, she thought it was Chuck, but soon realized that these arms weren't near thick enough, or did they have his sensual touch. Her doe eyes spotted him, a few people blocking them from full sight, Blair reached out and tried to call his name again, but it was nothing except a whisper on her lips, before everything around her turned dark.

* * *

><p><em>"You've reached Blair Waldo-"<em> A stream of swears rushed from between Chuck's lips when he got nothing but Blair's voicemail.

Again.

He couldn't even count the number of times he'd been calling her in the past many hours, hours in which much had changed.

"I'll have your psychotic ex's spine if anything's happened to her, Nathaniel." He said his best friend's name (ex-best friend if this kept up) in a twisted, ugly way, emphasizing his anger.

"Nothing's going to happen to her, alright, Chuck?_" _Nate himself was just as sharp from the spot where he was perched upon the coffee table in the Van der Bass Humphrey residence. No doubt the man was concerned about Blair, too, but Chuck knew fine well that he was primarily concerned with Serena. The blonde had disappeared suddenly in a way that had reminded her mother all too much of the old days, and she'd instantly been concerned. It didn't help that Serena, too, wasn't picking up her phone or answering any texts, leaving the two favorite Upper East Side beauties unaccounted for. After the breach in security tonight (rather, the fact that Jenny Humphrey had so easily slithered her way into a part of the venue where she wasn't meant to go), they were all on edge. The little slip of a girl had pled the fifth, and now Lily, Nate, Chuck, Rufus, and Dan were all taking refuge in Lily's apartment waiting and scouring every website they could find to see if either of them could be found.

It wasn't until a very long time from then that they received a phone call. Rufus was the one to answer the phone, but he quickly called Lily over.

"Uh huh… uh huh… yes, thank you, we'll be right there." He hung up the phone before he addressed the room. "Serena's been found, they're taking her to the hospital right now to be treated for…" He looked regretful for a moment and it was with a heavy expression that he informed them, _"_they think… that she may have overdosed on some prescription pills. There were bottles and liquor when they found her in some cheap motel room." Disturbed as he was by this news - it just wasn't like Serena, not the new Serena, not the Serena that had come back from boarding school - Chuck couldn't stop himself from cutting across the murmurs of Dan, Nate, and Lily.

"And Blair?" he asked tensely, hoping against hope.

"They didn't mention anything about her, but if something happened to them then they're probably together and have her, too. They might have called Eleanor and Cyrus, or Harold and Roman." Probably so. When Blair had been in the car accident, Chuck had only been called because when she was awake she had requested him. They'd only been back together for a short time, and even if the nurses in the hospital did watch all the trashy talk shows and read the gossip magazines, he wouldn't be officially listed as Blair's emergency contact.

Something told him, however, that it was all a vain hope Nevertheless, he accompanied the group to the hospital. As they clamored for information on Serena Van der Woodsen, Chuck took it upon himself to ask at the desk about Blair.

"Blair Cornelia Waldorf," he said her name very clearly, getting frustrated when the nurse was unable to turn up any results. "Would you just call some other hospitals in the area to see if they've had any new female patients? 20 years old? 5' 4"?" He stormed off when it became apparent he would get nothing done for him. Quacks, all of them, he'd have their jobs, he'd have this entire hospital if he damn well pleased! Incompetent, couldn't make a simple phone call to find out if anywhere in the city knew where his fiancee was.

He'd already had someone check at the Empire, and The Palace, and her penthouse. He'd even gone so far as to have someone venture over to Victrola on the off chance she might be feeling particularly nostalgic on this night of sin and celebration. The thought was enough to pull a dry, humorless laugh from him. Celebration - he should be having that right now with her, that was what the plan had been. To be finally joining together to relish their engagement, and instead he was alone in a hospital hoping to God that nothing had happened to her… that whoever had put her in the hospital the first time wasn't making sure he didn't do the job better this time. The idea was enough to make him nearly….

"Charles?" Lily's gentle voice caught his attention and he turned his eyes upon her. "Charles, Serena… she's woken up, and I've gone to speak with her." His back stiffened and he listened intently, but he could tell by the sorrowful look in Lily's eyes that what she was about to say wouldn't be the light at the end of the tunnel, but the beginning of a very dark hole. "She says…" The skepticism in Lily's voice was evident, but whatever problems this mother and daughter pair had going on between them was beyond Chuck. "She says that Juliet Sharp is the one who took her… or at least, she vaguely remembers seeing someone who looked like Juliet at some point along the journey."

That was helpful.

"She also says that… that Blair wasn't with her. Not when she lost consciousness, and not when she woke up." There was a swooping sensation in his gut, like someone had punched him; he wasn't surprised, really, he'd thought it would be too convenient for Serena and Blair to disappear together, turn up together, and wind up in the same hospital. But there had been the tiniest amount of hope….

It all happened very quickly, then. Whenever the cell phones went off at once, it was always a sign that something bad was about to happen. He hadn't even checked his, too consumed with dissecting his next plan of action to be concerned with a mass text from Gossip Girl. It was a shout of his name from Nate, though, that got his attention, followed by Blair's name. His hand plunged into his pocket and he withdrew his phone, opening the newest message from Gossip Girl. Instantly it was like he'd been run through with an icy sword at what he saw. A grainy picture of what, even with the poor quality, was clearly Blair, bound to a chair and followed by a message.

**_The following is a plea for help to all you Upper East Siders: this just arrived in my inbox, and by this point I'm sure you've all heard that our favorite It-Girl and her best friend forever, soon-to-be Bass friend forever have gone missing. Rumor has it that Serena is safe and sound in a hospital bed, but the same can't be said for our dear Queen. While I'd normally dismiss this as a hoax, the visual makes me wonder. Someone call 9-1-1, because Blair Waldorf is in a mess so hot it would destroy any dance floor._**

A crude ransom note entailing an obscene amount of money followed Gossip Girl's post, and Chuck felt a mix between livid and absolutely helpless. He'd pay it all, he thought determinedly, pressing his phone to his ear to make a call to his bank. He'd pay every last damn cent if he had to-

His phone was yanked from his hand by Lily, despite his protests.

"I'm calling the police," she informed him, having read the post over Dan's shoulder. _"_This is far too serious, Charles. This isn't something you can wave your money at or call a P.I. about."

If Chuck was right about it being the same people behind this, then the last thing they wanted was the police! He couldn't exactly explain that, though, because then he'd have to admit all the other parts - how he'd received a phone call the morning after her accident, how he'd finally decided to pay the men off if it would just keep Blair happy and _safe_, how he'd been having his P.I. tail the man who had picked up the bag of money ever since to try to get some sort of lead on who was behind this. No, Lily was probably better off not knowing all those complicated details. The police, however… when they got here, if he absolutely had to, he'd tell them anything they wanted to know. Just so long as Blair was safe at the end of it all.

* * *

><p>Within another few hours, Chuck was standing outside of a Motel 6, surrounded by police and paramedics. Once the police had gotten in contact and had been given the Gossip Girl blast, they'd proceeded to do a number of things (that Chuck wouldn't even pretend to understand) in order to, ultimately, track down the number on on the device used to submit the blast. If they knew that, they said, they would be able to track down at least the area where she was being kept. They'd made to leave, but Chuck had insisted on going with them, all but snarling at them when they tried to say no, that he was a <em>civilian <em>and he could sit there and wait and Blair would be better for it. He didn't expect them to understand, and he hadn't put it this way when he explained, but this was the love of his life. This was the woman he was going to marry, and she was in danger, had been in danger for days, probably by the same person. He wanted to see them - he wanted to see them before he killed them. Even as he had the thought, Chuck knew he wouldn't actually kill whoever it was (only harm or maim or seriously injure…) because that would have been too much of a free pass for them. They were going to jail, and he would see that his lawyers got them put behind bars for life.

"Mr. Bass." One of the officers addressed him and he looked up. "We're about to make the call." He walked closer to join the group that was huddled close together and listened intently, waiting for the ringing to stop.

"Leave the cash with the supermarket owner, Linda, in Brooklyn. Once I know the money is secured, I will inform you of Blair's..."

His brows furrowed deeply as he heard the voice of the person who answered the phone. It was female, that much was evident, but that wasn't the surprising part. The part that caught him off guard was that it sounded familiar… he wasn't sure from where, though. It wasn't Juliet, it wasn't Jenny Humphrey or that troll Vanessa. But he had heard that voice before, and he cursed himself for not being able to place it.

"_Motel 6, room 214!_"

His heart leapt into his throat when Blair's voice was heard, shouting numbers. The line went dead shortly after, but Chuck's legs didn't, and despite the shouts he followed the three officers who took off in the direction of the room. There was an ugly splintering sound when the door was broken in, and the sharp, gruff shouts of the policemen filled the night, shouting back against shrill foreign words. He swept into the room, heart hammering in his chest as his eyes made note of two people:

Blair, and a slender blonde. Willowy and graceful, she looked lethal hovering over his fiancee, even with that tiny frame. He'd once thought she saved him while he was drowning, drowning in grief and a need for Blair that he believed he could never quench again. She had, for a time (and wrongfully at that) been the source of purity, light, and good in his life, a pinnacle of hope for the future. She'd been his constant companion during his masquerade as a Prince in Paris, giving him comfort when no one that actually knew him would have dared to offer a hand to his miserable, destructive self.

But there was nothing pure or hopeful about seeing Eva Coupeau standing over a bound and battered Blair Waldorf.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: We know, we know! We promise everything is going to be explained. And we did say it was A/U, yes? You can't say you ever would have guessed this - in fact, we know you didn't. Read and review if you're so inclined, although we're sincerely hoping that you will. Please? Pretty please?**


	17. Inevitable, always

**A/N: Although I (B) was punished last time by C for writing a A/N because I used "I" instead of "we" (I'M SORRY!), I'm here nevertheless on behalf of the both of us. This will be the last chapter in the fic, Whenever, Wherever. We hope you all enjoy the ending, and PLEASE review. Also make sure you read the A/N at the end for more information on where things are going with us.**

* * *

><p><em>Am I drunk? Blair questioned herself as she tried to push through to thick crowd to find Chuck. The room seemed to be spinning, and her eyesight was getting slimmer (with no thanks to the mask that was currently covering her features).<em>

_"Chuck?" She called out, near helplessly, as she accidentally stumbled into a nearby couple that was in a heated embrace, annoyed at her interruption. "Sorry," she muttered, struggling to stabilize herself on two feet, her heels all of a sudden seemingly against her._

_Just when she felt the world around her about to go black, two arms wrapped around her from behind. Initially, she thought it was Chuck, but soon realized that these arms weren't near thick enough, or did they have his sensual touch. Her doe eyes spotted him, a few people blocking them from full sight, Blair reached out and tried to call his name again, but it was nothing except a whisper on her lips, before everything around her turned dark._

* * *

><p>Hours later, Blair awoke to find herself tied to an uncomfortable chair, facing a poorly decorated room, with walls that seemed like they'd seen better days. She blinked slowly, vision still slightly hazy as she came to, a blonde woman sitting with her back to Blair.<p>

"Serena?" she questioned curiously, trying to move but finding her actions hindered, "What's going on?"

The woman stood, and turned around, Blair blinked, trying to focus. "Not quite. But I am glad you're finally awake."

The girl shoved her face into Blair's, and realization dawned on her.

Eva.

Blair seethed, as much as she physically could, at the skinny blonde girl. "What are you doing? And why do you have my phone?" She asked curiously, noticing the blackberry in the girl's bony hands.

"You have a few missed calls from your...what was it, fiance?" She nearly spat the words like an insult, before lifting the phone to point at Blair, "Say cheese," and snapping a photo. She smiled down at the image, "You always were pretty. I can see why Charles would be interested in you. Your personality however...that could use a few changes."

Inside, Blair was practically raving. She knew this Eva girl couldn't be all she was claiming to be. Aside from her colorful job, she was...a _saint_. Blair never believed it. "Eva, why am I tied to a chair? Are you that upset over Chuck sending you away? Well guess what, _he never loved you_. The only reason he even spoke to you, was to take his mind off of _me_," all of this talking was giving her a head rush. She swallowed, and tried to continue, "So will you please just untie me and we'll forget about it?"

With one quick movement, and a flash of shining metal, there was a knife against Blair's cheek. She froze, eyes wide, terrified. "Do you think I really care about Chuck's love? Do you really think I'm that desperate and pathetic like you? Let me tell you something, Blair. I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth. My family has had to work hard for what we have, and when we spotted the infamous Chuck Bass in Europe, we knew what we had to do. We hired some muggers to attack him, find out if it really was the Bass. They took the ring, his money, and ID. They betrayed us, so we killed them. The only reason that pretty rock is on your finger, is because the police were able to find the bodies. Everything was falling into place until _you_ convinced Chuck to come back to America, and _you_ turned him against me. My family was going to be swimming in riches because of me. Even with the money he gave us, I have lost my pride and respect. I have shamed them, and now we...now I have _nothing_."

Fear and curiosity bloomed in Blair's eyes, "What money?" she asked meekly-for once in Blair's life she was letting another person have the power. It terrified her, almost more than the blade that bit into skin, causing small beads of blood to spring up under the cool metal. Eva laughed, the motion causing the knife to slightly aggravate her skin further.

"You mean he didn't tell you?" Blair's eyes held the response, so Eva continued, "That car accident was no mistake. Chuck was contacted, he had to pay a price, unless he wanted to see you six-feet-under. I trust you got our flowers and phone call?"

The smirk that was firmly planted on the blonde's face was quickly burning itself into Blair's memory. She reared back, finally bringing the knife off of Blair's skin, and pulled the phone back out.

"So h-he paid, right? That means you can't..."

The blonde began typing on the small device, "I can. But I won't, because Chuck will pay me again. Your mother might even pitch in some money...the van der Woodsen's too. The outrageous gossip site you all read will be posting your ransom in three...two..." the telltale sound of a Gossip Girl post rang out in the small room.

Rarely did Blair Waldorf cry. She couldn't have described how defeated she felt, that she was causing all of this pain for Chuck. Draining his bank account dry all because she couldn't stand to see him with another woman. Tears blurred in Blair's eyes, and she looked down at her lap, letting the tears fall freely.

* * *

><p>It had been hours since the Gossip Girl blast. Blair had been swimming in and out of consciousness, due to the drug that she'd been given through her mask at the Ball. She tried to take in her surroundings, figure out where she was. It was a motel, that much she knew. Her eyes lazily scanned for any clues, and she could make out a key card on the bed. <em>Motel 6<em>. She was being held hostage in a Motel 6. But what room? She could see by the slightly cracked curtains that it was the second floor. She was being held hostage on the second floor of a Motel 6. The second floor. Her eyes searched-unless Eva opened the door, she couldn't know which room number. That was when her hazy doe eyes landed on small paper pouch in a nearby garbage can, a pouch that had previously been home to the room key. 214. _Motel 6, second floor, 214_.

However, she could tell Eva was getting anxious. Noticing the slight falter in her attitude, Blair pounced, "Eva," she began slowly, but she was simply interrupted by a quick "Shut up."

"I know who you are. When you release me, I will tell the police. You're not going to get away with this." The blonde's eyes filled with fury. She approached Blair, and in a rage, backhanded the brunette, the hard smack leaving a bruise on the opposite cheek of the shallow cut.

Blair grunted loudly with pain, but didn't stop. She'd found her weak point. The failure in her plan.

"Who said anything about letting you go?" Eva whispered, her tone nasty.

"I don't think you understand who I am!" Blair shouted back, the sadness now overcome with frustration and anger as she furiously tried to free herself from her bonds. "I am one of the social elite. They will not stop until I'm found. They will arrest you, and you will go to jail. No money. No family."

Eva hit her again. This time, Blair succumbed to the pain and tears sprung into her eyes.

"You're a nasty little bitch. I cannot believe anyone would love such a cruel, heartless-" Blair's phone began ringing. Tentatively, Eva backed up and looked at the screen. NYPD. Slowly the blonde picked up the phone, and answered it, "Leave the cash with the supermarket owner, Linda, in Brooklyn. Once I know the money is secured, I will inform you of Blair's-"

"Motel 6, room 214!" She shouted from across the room, hoping that whoever was on the line could hear her. Eva had made the mistake of not gagging Blair, but this was also Blair's mistake. Within moments, her phone was smashed, and Eva was holding a rag over Blair's mouth, and she was once again losing consciousness. Just as everything was about to go black again, the door was smashed open. There was a shout, but Blair's eyes had fluttered shut, and she faded back into a deep state of unconsciousness. Eva's attempted plan of knocking out Blair and relocating her had failed due to one thing-the cops' close proximity. Blair just hoped Chuck was with or near them.

Chuck rushed into the room and knelt by Blair's side as the police detained Eva and began hauling her away as she screeched french insults, he tried his best to ignore her, and tiled Blair's chin up, discovering that she was unconscious. His jaw tightened to the point where it nearly snapped when he saw the bruise that was corning on the side of one cheek, and the small cut on the other. He easily undid her bindings (Eva, it seemed, wasn't very good at knots, only barely decent enough to restrain an unconscious Blair) before he scooped her up in his arms, pressing a kiss to her hair as he left the room with her. The paramedics that had been entering the room stopped and backtracked.

"She needs to be examin-"

His voice was sharp as he cut across them. "I know." Down the steps he went, and then he was taking her to the truck with flashing lights, where he reluctantly passed her off so she could be laid upon a stretcher and worked on, staying nearby and watching with a still heart and arms that ached to just run her over himself and see if there was any other harm he'd missed.

* * *

><p>There was a surprising crispness to the air that whipped gently around Chuck as he stood on the balcony, overlooking Columbus Avenue. The purple bathrobe he wore shielded him from whatever chill that might have attacked his bones, however, so he ignored it as he gazed at the glittering lights of Manhattan, pensively sipping from a glass of scotch. It had been several hours since he'd returned home with Blair and dropped her off gently on his bed. Several long hours, during which his thoughts had haunted him. Even though she was safe and sound in his bed, he still felt like there was danger, to her, to him, to them. Like there was something he had to protect her from, still. Maybe, though, it was just how close he'd come to losing her…. His grip on the crystal glass grew so tight his knuckles went white, and he lifted it to his mouth, taking a long, deep sip of the liquor that licked its way down his throat in white hot flames. He never would have been afraid of someone as frail as Eva before, but over the course of the evening, the entire thing had been pieced together.<p>

Eva Coupeau was the estranged daughter of a mafia don who ran a small operation via the border of east Germany, Prague, and Warsaw. Apparently, the blonde had gotten herself into a bit of a sticky situation a few years ago and had since been looking for a way back in. When Chuck Bass had stumbled into the center of their operations, the money he promised them was too much of a temptation. It was dangerous, though, with him being such a public figure, so once they had determined that he was indeed _the_ Chuck Bass, Eva was sent into act like the gentle, lovesick lady to nurse his wound and broken heart. His injury had been planned for her intervention, because if anyone found him and took him to a hospital, the whole world would know where he was. This entire time she had been connected to the man that his P.I. had been tracking, the man that had nearly ensured Blair was lost to him forever. The kind girl that had been so in love with Henry Prince was actually more than capable of cruelty (as if the gash and bruise on Blair's face hadn't proved that), and he knew that if they had taken much longer, or hadn't produced what she'd wanted, that Blair might very well be...

His mind refused to allow him to finish the thought. This haunting thought was the primary reason Chuck wasn't lying in bed next to her right this minute. He'd tried to sleep, but even though her body was gently breathing beside his, he just… hadn't been able to focus, to let go. He'd just watched her intently, counting every breath she took, watching to make sure it wasn't all an illusion. It had driven him just about insane, and eventually he gave up on the idea of sleep and had come out to self-medicate himself and reflect on the events of the past few days that had led up to this heart-stopping moment. He'd never lain his hands on a woman (since he was old enough to know better), but he knew that if anything had happened to Blair tonight, he would have ended Eva. Jenny Humphrey, Juliet Sharp, and Vanessa Abrams were small, meaningless drivel compared to what Eva would be if Blair had come out of that room in anything less than perfect health.

And, indeed, that was what the paramedics had declared her, despite the cut and slight discoloration on her face. They'd been concerned that she wasn't waking up, but a quick investigation of the room revealed the culprit and told them that she would be fine in a few hours time. Coupled with some subtle bullying from Chuck to convince them that they were making the right decision, it was the clean bill of health that had allowed her to be taken back with him as opposed to the hospital. He nearly snorted into the glass at the reaming he would face if he had allowed her to be taken to a sterile room for the second time in less than a year. That would probably be the time where he'd have to remind her that she said she wouldn't ever want a divorce from him, and that the same rule should apply to keeping their engagement.

* * *

><p>Blair awoke for the second time that evening, eyes slowly fluttering open to find herself looking up at a very familiar ceiling, in a very familiar bed. She immediately realized her location, and several emotions rushed through her; relief, anger, and self-loathing.<p>

Relief because she was finally away from the maniac, tucked warmly into her fiance's large bed.

Anger because he had kept something so pivotal from her, and that Eva had dared to kidnap her.

Self-loathing because all of this pain was no one's fault but Blair's.

It was _because of_ Blair that Chuck went to Europe, where he was targeted. It was _her fault_ that Eva was sent away, and in turn, caused Chuck pain. So much pain that he'd declared _war_ on her. And what did that get her? A car accident, and Chuck subject to having to pay a ransom. He had to struggle through that by_ himself_. She turned onto her side, pulling the covers up under her chin, eyes stamped shut. She promised herself she wouldn't break. She couldn't break. She couldn't cause him any more pain.

She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of him that lingered in the sheets she was wrapped up. Faintly she wondered if he was in the bed with her-in the room with her. Blair, instead, she tried to put herself to sleep.

It failed miserably, however, since every time she closed her eyes, the blonde's vile face was before her. Blair sat up in Chuck's bed, eyes searching the dark room. Nothing.

Slowly, Blair got up out of bed, and noticed that she was still in the gown she'd worn to the ball. With a heavy sigh, she shed the dress (just another reminder of the night's events), and rummaged through Chuck's drawers for a dress shirt. Once she was dressed, more or less, she exited his bedroom and crept into living room, where she noticed Chuck standing out on the balcony, looking over Manhattan. He always did have a thing for roofs. Blair tentatively crossed the room and stepped up behind him. "I'm sorry."

It was the soft, clear voice that caught his attention and pulled him away from the lights that had appeared to captivate him so. Chuck straightened completely, abandoning his glass as he turned to the woman beside him. Automatically, his eyes scanned down her body, taking in the miles of leg that was exposed and making an appreciative note of the dress shirt she wore - he always did have a fondness for when she chose to wear his clothes; just another thing to show she was his.

Quick as the lowest flame of arousal was sparked in him, however, it was quickly yanked and restrained, doused with the vivid, fresh memories of the night's events. Who even know how lucky he was to have her standing in front of him. It was then that her words sank in, and his brow furrowed strongly.

"What are… what could you possibly be sorry for?" he asked her, slightly incredulous. He reached out and rubbed her arms gently, simultaneously warming her and selfishly reassuring himself that she was fine… she was okay… she was intact and would be intact in the morning.

She gathered that the events of the night was what was making her so emotional; Jenny streaming a story to Gossip Girl, being held hostage by Eva, and learning all there was to know about her family's involvement in the last six months of her and Chuck's lives. She couldn't believe that sending the Parisian away would cause this whole mess. Blair knew for a fact that if she'd have been in Chuck's position...she tried to stay calm. Tried to keep the tears from falling, but in those few moments, Blair was weak. Something that was especially rare for the Waldorf.

"Chuck, I..." she was glad he didn't blame her, but somehow that made her feel worse. He'd been so good to her, and he didn't even feel the need to blame her for what had happened. "This is all my fault." She hung her head, and stood there, frozen, "Eva told me..." she tried to hide her face, to hide her eyes as they began to well up with tears, "Your mugging, the car accident, this...it's all my fault. And you've had to...you've had to pay, and go through all of this...I'm sorry."

It was the stress, he decided as his hazel eyes flickered back and forth across his fiancee's face, trying to - and being unsuccessful in - reading her expression to get an idea about the logic behind the words she was currently feeling compelled to say. It was the stress that had obviously pushed her to some sort of temporary break in sanity, because only an insane person would think that any of this was their fault. Here he'd thought he couldn't have anymore heart attacks in one night, but this woman would indeed be the death of him and be responsible for causing the world's first, fifth heart attack in one night.

"Blair…" he muttered quietly, as she started and stopped sentences, trying to get her to just _look_ at him, believing that if he could get that to happen then at least some sort of progress would be made - if nothing else, he would be able to get a better read on her. He blinked in mild confusion when she finally managed to get a full sentence out, but seconds later incredulity was washing over him, along with a little bit of outrage. _Pay?!_ Was she _honestly _concerned with the fact that he'd had to dispose of a small amount of money (for him) that would otherwise probably have never seen the light of day? Did she honestly think that paying it wouldn't be absolutely worth it so long as it kept her alive? He wanted to say safe, too, but the night's events had clearly indicated that her safety hadn't been quite as secured as he'd hoped it was.

Blair was distraught, to say the least, over what she should do next. She almost considered leaving, thinking herself as nothing but a nuisance in his presence. Chuck wasn't too keen on sharing his feelings, and she felt that if he was frustrated with her, he wouldn't say anything. This is how Chuck had felt after the Empire incident, and his time with Jenny Humphrey. This is why he left for Europe and disappeared. This was all because of her, or at least it felt that way to Blair. Running away from it would get her nowhere, Chuck wasn't mad at her (at least he didn't seem to be), and she knew that leaving or fleeing the scene would only make it worse. That was the last thing she wanted.

Blair slowly raised her head to look at him, and his protests died in his throat while his jaw tightened at the sight of the tears that had welled up. A line of frustration threaded through his system - frustration with himself, not her, because he had absolutely no idea how to impress upon her that the events of the night, of the past few days, of the past month, weren't her fault at all. The few moments of silence deafening, before she pushed forward, burying herself in his embrace. She knew he hated it when she cried, but the events of the night had been traumatic for both of them, and she couldn't hold it in any longer. She wrapped her arms tightly around his midsection, her face buried in his robe as she cried, simply trying to show how sorry she was in the act. She just wanted them to be happy. Her fiance not to resent her, and for them to forget tonight had never happened.

He hadn't had his arms around her, properly, he realized, since this morning when he'd still been sleeping in their bed. He tucked her head under his chin while his one hand cradled the back of it, and his other arm wrapped tightly (to the point where he hoped it wasn't _too_ tight) around her small frame, pressing her into him as snugly as he dared.

"Shhh," he murmured automatically, stroking her hair lightly. "It's alright now, I promise." He pressed a fierce kiss to her hair, horrified when he found his own eyes starting to sting at the corners, the sheer relief that it really was all over and she was here, with him, finally settling in. His eyes closed tightly against the unwanted moisture and he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the faintest scent of her shampoo that still clung to the mahogany strands.

"Don't ever think," he said, voice muffled and tight with emotion, "that I won't do everything I can to keep you safe." The arm that was wrapped around her rubbed up and down her back in slow, steady strokes up and down. "I will pay _anything_. I will _do_ anything. I _love you_." The words were thick in his throat and he inhaled deeply before saying them again. "I love you, I love…." He mumbled the words, his voice gradually getting lower and lower.

There was something about Chuck's warm embrace that was incredibly soothing to Blair. She nuzzled herself closer to him, inhaling that scent that was completely Chuck. The arms that wrapped around her fiance fisted in his robe as she clung to him for dear life. Instantly calmer, she nodded against the purple material, but didn't move.

Her words got lost as she tried to mumble back, "I love you," but she didn't want to lift her face.

The winter New York air slowly began to take it's toll on Blair and her thin layer of dress. She shivered slightly, before pulling back, and leading Chuck indoors. He could get his glass later. She didn't want to talk anymore, she just wanted...needed comfort. She wasn't sure if her mind would allow her to sleep, even when beyond exhaustion, but she knew that the connection between her and Chuck was the only thing keeping her grounded. Even if he just would...hold her until she could somehow slip into a restful state.

"Chuck," she spoke slowly, her eyes no longer filled with tears as they had been before. "Can we just...go to bed, and...forget that tonight ever happened?" her eyes were almost as pleading as her voice. In truth, they'd never forget, and always have the events of the night hanging over their heads like a storm cloud, but that wasn't going to stop Blair from trying to pretend that it was all just a dream.

Chuck met her eyes, relieved to see that the tears that had been spilling from them were now dried, even if there was a pink tinge to the whites of her eyes that was evidence to the intense expression of emotion she'd succumbed to, despite her best efforts. He stayed silent when she gave her request, finally getting it out after a few lulls in her sentence. Sharp eyes scanned her face, but he could find nothing except the sincerest wish to put this behind them. As much as he wanted to, he doubted he would be able to forget entirely.

The uncertainty, the pure, concentrated fear that had gripped him when he'd found out what had happened… it wasn't the sort of thing that just left, and he could already predict that he'd be insufferable for a good few months after this, being just a little more overbearing with wanting to know when she'd be coming home or meeting him for dinner. No, _he_ certainly wouldn't be forgetting what it was like to have her life (and his - where her life was concerned, so was his. Always.) on the line. But, he thought to himself, this was important to her; so, if it would give her peace of mind, he would at least _say_….

He pushed his fingers into her hair and tilted her head up slightly before slanting his mouth over hers. It was a gentle kiss at first; just his firm lips moving softly over her warm ones. With a sweep of his tongue, though, he'd deepened it, and his brow furrowed as he concentrated on tasting her, feeling her, pouring all that was him and his capability to _love her_ into the kiss. He broke it, breathing in long, shallow breaths and his forehead gently pushed against hers.

"Alright." He finally agreed, voice like sandpaper. "Let's go to bed and get some sleep. Tomorrow, we'll pick up with celebrating the success of my rebranding," he wrapped his hand around her left one and kissed the knuckle her ring rested below, "and yours." Despite his words, his belief that he wouldn't just be able to ignore the night rang true; even with her nestled against his chest, it was a long time before he managed to stop staring at his ceiling and drift off to sleep.

They were cocooned safely in each other's arms as they fell asleep, and neither wanted to face the nasty world that lay outside of their embrace. Except they had to, because she was Blair Waldorf, and he was Chuck Bass, and the world seemed to be against them. Drama had escalated into real threats, and would only get worse. There was a silent agreement between them, that they'd stand by each other through thick and thin, that had been made at Blair's party when Chuck had offered to leave her side. Neither of them wanted to, even if it led them down an easier path. They had love that overthrew empires, one that would come back even when thought to be forever dead.

They were inevitable.

They were Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck.

They were forever, and they'd be there for each other _whenever_, and _wherever_ the other needed them.

**FIN**

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><p><strong>AN: So, we've come to the end of the road. What did you think of it? Was it underwhelming, or did you love love love it? Please let us know with a review, because it truly makes our days brighter.  
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**Want more Chuck and Blair? Yes? Good. Our pair, the one we've developed in _Whenever, Wherever_ aren't anywhere near done. We will be posting a continuation, assuming you all want more. There are new storylines, more characters introduced, and of course smut, fluff, and angst with our favorite pair.  
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**If you're eager for more and aren't willing to wait, you can always read our other fics (which are smutty one-shots, one of which is a "deleted scene" from this fic).  
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